Rebel Yell
by Raptorguy19
Summary: After killing Edgar Ross, Jack decides to flee to Mexico to avoid United States law enforcement. While there, he is unwillingly drawn into a rebellion against his father's former ally Abraham Reyes. Who will Jack side with and who will emerge victorious?
1. Remember My Family

**Author's note: So sorry I haven't updated "Killing Edgar Ross" lately, I've been busy with work and writer's block. This, however, I actually have decent ideas for, so this will be my main focus for now. This chapter is just basically a recap of how Jack tracked down Edgar Ross and killed him; all chapters after this one will be completely original. As a disclaimer, I do not own any content, plot lines, characters, etc. in Red Dead Redemption. **

**Chapter track: Revenge by 30 Seconds To Mars**

Honky tonk piano music blasted from the piano at the Blackwater Saloon, but Jack Marston didn't pay much attention to its sweet sound as he downed his tenth shot of whiskey. Abigail, his mother, had died just a few short hours ago, and Jack was now an orphan, left alone to fend for himself in a world that was changing fast. This caused Jack a lot of stress, and immediately after burying his mother he decided to drown his sorrows in whiskey. He had never had the liquid before, but now, he welcomed its bitter taste.

Milford Weaver, who had just been released from prison, silently watched Jack with sad eyes. He didn't know exactly what Jack was going through, but he could guess that it wasn't good. He remembered the night three years ago that Edgar Ross had stated his intention to kill Jack's father, John, and how adamant Archer Fordham was in not supporting Ross's plans. He remembered being arrested a few days later after warning John of the impending attack, how he was mistreated in prison. This, combined with a lack of sleep that had been present for years, made him decide not to speak to Jack. He knew none of it was his fault, but he didn't want to recollect any more memories than he already had.

With bloodshot eyes, Jack murmured, "Another shot, please," slamming his glass down as he did so. Milford grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter and poured the last of it into Jack's glass. Jack downed it in one go and shuttered, drunk and miserable out of his mind. Suddenly angry, Jack threw the shot glass at the wall, and it shattered just above the head of the blackjack dealer, who glared angrily at Jack and flipped him off. Jack just scoffed and looked away, not in the mood for a fight.

At this point, Jack just sat there, thinking about everything that had happened to him in the last few years. He remembered the day his father came home; Jack was frustrated that John had been gone for so long, but he was also happy to see him. They had spent some quality time together; John taught Jack how to hunt and shoot straight, and Jack always tried to pay attention to his father's teachings. There was one time he was arrogant enough to hunt a grizzly on his own, which almost cost him his life, but his father had stepped in and saved the day.

Ever since the day Edgar Ross had sent that Army posse to Beecher's Hope and John had died, Jack suspected that he knew something was coming. He remembered that John didn't look at all surprised when he saw the first group of soldiers coming toward the ranch, and he remembered how calm John was when he told Jack to stay in the house. Jack remembered just how terrified he was when he heard the gunshots. He tried to run outside to help John and Uncle, but Abigail had stopped him. She told him that she wanted him safe.

Just a few minutes later, he and his mother were escorted by John to the barn, where they hopped on a young pinto and rode quickly away from the ranch. Not even half a minute later, they heard the sound of gunfire; first six shots went off, then dozens more. Fearing the worst, they galloped back to the ranch and, to their horror, saw the bullet-filled body of John Marston.

_Damn that Edgar Ross!_ Jack thought to himself. _That backstabbing son of a bitch deserves to burn in Hell for what he did to my Pa! I oughta kill him now!_

As if he had read Jack's mind, Milford spoke up and said, "Kill him, Jack."

Caught off guard, Jack drunkenly murmured, "What?"

"Kill him," Milford said. "Kill Edgar Ross." Milford said nothing after that, and whenever Jack would try to get him to speak up, he would continue ignoring him and wipe down the counter. Jack stood up to go to his room in the saloon, but almost fell down on account of how drunk he was. Noticing this, Milford gave Jack a helping hand and helped him up the stairs and into his room. Once Milford had left, Jack sat on his bed and thought to himself, _He's right. I should kill him. I been training with my guns for a few years now; I can do this now. But how will I find him? I don't think he lives here in Blackwater anymore, and I don't know if any of the lawmen around here would be forthcoming with that information. Still, can't hurt to try_. Before Jack could think of a way to get this done, he passed out.

The next morning, Jack awoke with the worst headache imaginable, completely hung over from his night of drinking. He couldn't remember much about the previous night, or even how he got to his room, but the one thing he did remember was that he wanted to kill Edgar Ross. Filled with vengeful anger, Jack slowly got up and grabbed his guns, which had been placed neatly on the table by Milford. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and hooked his gun belt to his waist, his father's Schofield revolver, handed to him by Landon Ricketts, in the holster, along with several rounds of spare ammunition. Once he was ready, Jack grabbed his hat, put it on, and headed down the stairs.

The saloon was completely empty, save for Milford and one lone cowboy, who was covered in trail dust and looked like he had just been on the trail. As Jack got closer to the man, he noticed a glistening badge and correctly guessed that the man was a federal marshal and that he had returned from a bounty hunting mission. Jack approached the man, wanting to ask him about Edgar Ross, and cleared his throat to get the man's attention once he had reached him. The man looked over at him and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Howdy mister," Jack said in as friendly a voice as he could muster.

"Hello, boy," the bounty hunter responded, tipping his hat. Jack did the same in response. "You need something, boy? Come, sit, let me buy you a drink."

"That's alright, mister, I had enough last night," Jack said. "Do you know a man named Edgar Ross? I'm trying to find him."

"I've heard the name, but I've never seen him or talked to him myself," he responded. "You might want to try asking somebody from the Bureau; they would know more about him than me."

"There's a Bureau agent at the Blackwater train station," Milford stated. "He's waiting for the next train to Armadillo, I think. Some kind of business down there. You might benefit from talking to him."

"Thank you for your help, gentlemen," Jack said, smiling.

"Good luck, Jack," Milford said, winking. Unable to remember that Milford had told Jack to kill Edgar Ross, Jack gave Milford a confused look before leaving the saloon and mounting his father's old palomino, which was hitched on a post outside. He clicked his tongue, sending the horse forward. Being in no rush, Jack walked the horse over to the train station, where, sure enough, a Bureau agent was standing on the platform. Jack led his horse to a hitching post near the station and hitched it. He then approached the Bureau agent and got his attention.

"Hello, sir," Jack said cordially. "You work with the government? You one of them agents?"

"Sure, son," the man responded. "Why you ask?"

"Did you work with a man named Edgar Ross? I have something for him." _A bullet_, Jack thought to himself.

"Edgar Ross? No, but well knew of him. Fine man if you wanted results. Won himself a chest full of medals. I think he went and retired about a year ago. Last I heard him and his wife moved out to a cabin on Lake Don Julio. Lucky guy, getting to take it easy. Beats fighting crime in this dump, that's for sure."

"Well thank you for the information, mister," Jack said, tipping his hat. The man did the same. Jack mounted his horse again and rode to Lake Don Julio. While he was riding, he thought to himself, _That bastard won medals? Good God, they must not know nothin' about that bastard. I wouldn't give him the medal if my life depended on it! He don't deserve any of the recognition he's got. And who the hell decided to give him those medals? Whoever it was must've wanted somethin' from him, trying to kiss up to him like that. Damn them. Damn them all._

Jack continued to think to himself as rain started to fall on the landscape. "It always rains when you don't want it to," Jack said aloud, frustrated. "It don't matter; rain or shine, I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch who shot my Pa." The remainder of Jack's ride was uneventful, and once he had reached the cabin, he hid behind a rock and pulled out his binoculars, intending to find Ross before killing him. The only person he could see, however, was a woman, presumably Ross's wife, who was sitting out on the porch and looking out toward the lake. Jack decided to ask her about Ross's whereabouts, so he descended the hill and approached the small cabin.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Jack said.

"Hello, young man," Ross's wife, Emily, said, smiling.

"Hi."

"What are you doing out here?" Emily asked. "Are you out visiting the lake with your family?"

A pang of pain hit Jack when he was reminded of his father's death by bullets and his mother's death by disease, but he hid this from Emily and instead said, "No, ma'am. I was looking to deliver a letter to Edgar Ross."

"Oh, that husband of mine," Emily said. "That bureau just won't get its talons out of him, even though he's retired. Edgar gave them some of the best years of his life; they ought to let him retire in peace. They'll not rest til they've killed him with worry, and he's such a sensitive man. I'm sorry, I shouldn't get so angry. I don't suppose any of this is your fault. There's no need to worry about him nowadays.

"Well where is he?" Jack asked.

"He and his brother Phillip went hunting on the south side of the San Luis River. Be careful crossing over. They were saying it was dangerous."

"I sure will, ma'am," Jack responded. "And don't worry about a thing. I'm sure your husband will be just fine." Emily smiled and waved goodbye, and Jack hopped back on his horse and galloped away.

Jack rode his father's old palomino through the Mexican wilderness, hell bent on finding Edgar Ross and killing him. He didn't know what he was going to say, or if he would even say anything, but he did know that he wanted to kill him and that nothing would change his mind. _This man deserves to die_, Jack thought to himself. _The bastard never cared about no one but himself._ As Jack continued along the trail next to the San Luis River, he noticed a camp in the distance. _That's where he is_, Jack thought, focusing his gaze on the small camp. When he reached it, there was only one man there. Jack dismounted his horse and gave the man a friendly grin.

"Hey there, mister! How's the hunting?" he asked casually.

"Oh, pretty good, son," the man responded. "Got me a few rabbits, coyote, elk. Still looking for some trophies for the parlor."

"I've got a letter here for Edgar Ross," Jack lied. "You know him? I heard he was down in these parts from his wife."

"Course I know him, he's my brother!" Phillip Ross stated. "He's gone downriver to duck hunt. Must be a pretty important letter to have come all this way."

"Yes, sir, real important. I'll be on my way home as soon as I deliver this message."

"You best be off then." While Jack walked toward his horse, Phillip called out, "Just don't get on his bad side! He's got a filthy temper." Jack spurred his horse forward toward the river. His heart was racing and he was beginning to sweat nervously. In just a minute or so, he was going to be face-to-face with his father's killer for the first time in years. A huge mixture of emotions overwhelmed Jack and almost made him stop and turn around. But he had made the conscious decision to do away with Edgar Ross, and he wasn't about ready to allow his out-of-control teenage hormones stop him.

In the distance, Jack could hear gunshots, and he guessed it was Edgar Ross hunting ducks. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva as he dismounted his horse near the place where he had heard the shooting and walked quickly to the retired Bureau agent. _This is it_, Jack thought, _the moment I've been waiting three years for. It's time to get it over with_.

"Excuse me," Jack said, getting Ross's attention, "you Edgar Ross?"

Ross squinted at Jack. He vaguely recognized the 19-year-old's face, but he couldn't quite put a name on it. For this reason, he asked, "Do I know you?"

"Forgive me for startling you, sir. I have a message for you." Jack moved forward slightly, then continued. "My name is Jack Marston. You knew my father."

Ross paused for a second. He knew both John and Jack; after all, he was the one who was responsible for John's death and Jack's and Abigail's kidnapping. Chuckling, he said, "I see. I remember your father."

"I've come for you, Ross," Jack said, his eyes filling with anger.

_This kid can't be serious_, Ross thought to himself. _This has got to be a joke or something_. Humored, he chuckled harder and said, "And you, boy, have sure as shit found me."

"You killed my father!"

Ross's humor began to fade, and annoyance took its place. "Your father killed himself with the life he lived," he argued.

"You killed him! I saw you!" Jack began to raise his voice, his anger ever-rising.

"You keep saying that."

"You sent him to do your dirty work, then you shot him like a dog!"

Ross's temper had reached a critical point. "And I'll shoot you like one, too, you little piece of trash. Now get out of here before I kill you as well!"

_The kid will back down now_, Ross thought. _He doesn't have the guts to shoot me_. To his surprise, however, Jack's response was, "I ain't goin' nowhere, old man." He then proceeded to take a couple steps back. Knowing a challenge when he saw one, Ross dropped his shotgun and also took a few steps back. He and Jack put their hands over their revolvers, ready for the draw.

The two men stared each other down, waiting for the standard five seconds to pass. Ross wasn't expecting anything like this to happen; he figured that if someone from his past was going to come after him, he'd be able to detect it in time and take care of it. Jack, on the other hand, had been planning this almost since the moment his father was gunned down. This wasn't a simple matter of dueling to Jack; this was an act of honor, of revenge. In addition, Jack was depressed enough that he didn't actually care if he won the duel. He wanted to avenge his father's death, but with Abigail gone he didn't think he had much to live for.

Five seconds passed by quickly, and it was time to draw. The elderly Edgar Ross was still quick to the draw, but the younger, more agile Jack was a worthy opponent. Within less than a second, Jack had his gun up and firing just as Ross had his gun up and ready to fire. Five shots from Jack's Schofield revolver were discharged, ending the life of his father's killer. Ross's lifeless body fell onto the river bank, and Jack Marston rode quickly away from the scene.


	2. Justice In Rio Del Toro

**Chapter track: God's Gonna Cut You Down (traditional folk song, no single artist)**

Just a few hundred yards away from the spot where Jack had killed Edgar Ross, Phillip heard the five gunshots from Jack's gun. He frowned and said, "I guess the poor boy got on his bad side. I better go talk to my brother about it." As Phillip was standing up, he saw Jack ride up fast and whiz quickly past, not even making eye contact with him. He noticed that while Jack looked like he was in a rush to get away from that location, there was a slight hint of satisfaction on his face. A bit confused, Phillip grabbed his gun and walked to the spot where just a minute earlier his brother had been gunned down.

While Phillip didn't know exactly what had happened, he feared the worst. His brother was, after all, responsible for the demise of many gangs of outlaws, and it was possible that Jack belonged to one of them and had come for revenge. Phillip shook his head, ridding his mind of these thoughts. _It's probably nothing_, he thought to himself. _My brother probably just got mad that he couldn't shoot one of the ducks. I'm gonna check on him though, to be sure_. "Edgar?" Phillip called out, peeking through the bushes. "Did that boy hurt yo-"

A gigantic wave of sadness immediately overcame Phillip when he saw his brother's body lying on the river bank. He collapsed to his knees, tears flowing down his face, and cried out, "No! No no no no!" Just an hour earlier, Edgar had stated his intention to hunt ducks along the river, and now he was dead. Completely forgetting about Jack, Phillip crawled over to Edgar's lifeless body and held it close to his. By now, Edgar was beginning to go cold, and his joints were stiffening quickly. Phillip could barely see his brother's face through the tears that were flowing out of his eyes.

"I gotta tell someone about this," Phillip said aloud. "They gotta catch my brother's killer." Phillip quickly sprinted back to his camp and climbed on his bay, a nine-year-old horse that still ran like a young one. He quickly rode to Lake Don Julio to tell Emily, barely able to see where he was going. The day before, he and Edgar had said their goodbyes to Emily, telling her that they would be back in a week, but now all of that had changed. Edgar was dead and Emily was a widow.

Within an hour, Phillip's horse came sliding to a halt just outside the cabin. Sensing some kind of urgency, Emily rushed out of the cabin and asked, "Phillip, what are you doin' back so soon? Where's Edgar? And why are you crying?"

"He's dead," Phillip choked. "He was killed." Emily's eyes opened wide, and she couldn't stand. She leaned over the porch railing, tears falling down her face. She remembered that conversation she had had with the young man who came asking about Edgar. She had said that there was no reason to worry about Edgar, that he was safe from harm. Unable to bear the news any longer, Emily fainted, falling backward onto the porch.

Phillip became angry at seeing this. He was enraged that anyone would be willing to harm not only his brother, but his family as well. In Phillip's eyes, his brother's murderer had no regard for anyone's feelings except his own, and he needed to be brought to justice immediately. Phillip decided that he needed to ride to Armadillo so that he could send a telegraph to the Blackwater police. Before riding off, Phillip climbed onto the porch of the Ross home and carried Emily to her bed.

"Don't worry, Emily," Phillip said, "we'll catch his killer. I ain't gonna rest 'til they catch him."

* * *

The sight was still difficult for Phillip to bare, even though he had seen his brother's bloodied and lifeless body just the day before. On the scene were a dozen of the finest lawmen and Bureau agents in Blackwater, including the recently elected chief of police Archer Fordham, who replaced Kyle Rech after he decided to retire.

Emily was also on the scene, weeping intensely. She felt like part of this was her fault, as she had told Jack that there was no reason to worry about Edgar. She was comforted by Phillip, who continued to mourn the loss of his brother. As the two of them mourned, the group of lawmen investigated the murder as thoroughly as they could. The group discussed how best to proceed with the investigation.

"I want six of you to interview Phillip and Emily, see what you can get out of them," Fordham said, pointing at six of the lawmen. "The other five will be with me. We'll investigate the scene of the murder and try to figure out exactly what happened when he was killed." Half of the lawmen approached Phillip and Emily, while the other half stayed behind with Edgar Ross's body, which had been partially snacked on by coyotes by this time.

Fordham knelt down and examined Edgar's body. Despite the bite marks from the coyotes, Fordham could see five bullet wounds, three of which were in Edgar's chest and two of which were embedded in his skull. There were no other visible wounds, so Fordham proceeded to dig through Edgar's pockets. All of his money and a valuable-looking gold pocket watch were still there, leading Fordham to believe that this crime wasn't committed by a robber.

One of the Bureau agents, Howard Sawicki, asked, "You think this was a robbery?"

"No," Fordham responded. "He still has all of his money."

"How many times was he shot?" Drew Blankenship, another lawman, asked.

"Five times, thrice in the chest and twice in the head," Fordham said. He stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants. "I haven't spoken to this man in three years, but I never thought I'd see him like this."

"None of us did," Drew said sadly. "He had his bad days, as we all do, but he was a good man overall."

Not wanting to respond to that, Fordham scoped the area for bullet casings. Sure enough, after about thirty seconds of searching the area, he came across one. He held the little casing between his fingers, examining it carefully. He determined that it was a .45 caliber shot that was most likely discharged by a revolver. He stated his findings to the small group of lawmen, and Drew wrote it down in a small notebook that he was carrying with him. Fordham scanned the area for more clues, and a couple minutes later found some boot prints. The boot prints originated at the top of the hill to the south of the scene and ended just five yards from the body of Edgar Ross.

_Five yards_, Fordham thought to himself. _That's the standard dueling distance_. Working on this hunch, he moved closer to Edgar's body and, sure enough, found more boot prints very close to Edgar's body. Fordham examined the boot prints carefully, then took a look at Edgar's boots. He observed that they matched perfectly and were exactly five yards from the other set of boot prints.

Fordham had pretty clear evidence, and announced, "Somebody killed him in a duel."

"How can you tell?" Howard asked, approaching Fordham, who was standing at the top of the hill.

"I found some relatively fresh footprints that originate at the top of the hill we're standing on," Fordham said, pointing at the first set of prints. Following them, he continued, "As we follow these prints, you can see their relative shallowness. The duelist who killed Ross was approaching him at this time." The two reached the bottom of the hill and Fordham pointed at the last set of prints. "Those right there are slightly deeper than these other prints. The two may have exchanged a few words, then the duel was fought and Edgar lost."

"But how can you tell this man didn't just shoot him in the back?" At this, Fordham directed Howard to Edgar's footprints, and pointed out that they were just five yards from the other set of footprints, the standard dueling distance. In response to this, Howard added, "Could be true, but that still doesn't explain how you know _for sure_ that it was a duel. Maybe Edgar turned around and was shot before a duel could take place?"

Fordham conceded. "You could be right. I guess there's no way we can know unless we actually catch this suspect." The two of them returned to the rest of the group.

"Got any idea who it could be?" Drew asked.

"We're looking for someone who had a motive," Fordham said, stroking his chin. "Since this wasn't an act of robbery, it was most likely an act of aggression. Let's think of anybody who might have had a problem with Ross."

"Just before he retired, he brought in one of the Bollard Twins," Howard said. "Maybe it was the other twin lookin' to get revenge?"

"Knowing the Bollard Twins, Willie would rather bust Ike out of prison than go after the man responsible for his arrest," Fordham said.

"Maybe someone in Ross's family can help us?" Drew suggested, motioning toward the other six lawmen and Edgar's family. "Should we see if they've found anything out?"

"Let's go," Fordham said, motioning forward. The six lawmen approached Phillip and Emily, who were still mourning. Emily's hair, normally done up in a bun, was hanging down freely. Having been rushed out of her cabin to the Mexican border to meet up with her dead husband, she didn't feel the need to pretty herself up. Phillip, too, was a mess; his face was red, his body covered in dust from the previous day's travels, and misery filled his eyes. He stared the lawmen down, ready to bring his brother's killer to justice.

"Agent Lowe, have you anything to report?" Fordham asked.

"Phillip ain't talkin' to any of us. Said he just wants to talk to you, Chief."

"Alright," Fordham said. "Drew, get ready to take notes." Drew pulled his small pocket notebook and a pencil out of his pocket. "Can either of you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill Edgar?"

"No, I...I can't think of anyone," Emily said between sobs. "He was a respectable man, upstanding, sweet, sensitive. I don't know why anyone would want to...to kill him."

"What about you, Phillip?" Fordham asked. "Can you think of anyone?"

Before Phillip could answer, Drew piped in. "Let's back up for a second. Phillip, can you tell us exactly what happened before you found Edgar's body?"

Phillip pulled himself together as best as he could and said, "Yeah, I guess so. It was about ten-thirty in the mornin' yesterday when Edgar says to me he wants to hunt ducks. So I told him alright, see you in a few hours. I went out and got me a few critters, but nothin' good enough for the parlor. Then this kid comes up to me and says he's got a letter for Edgar, and so I told him that Edgar was down the river and he should be nice to him. A few minutes later I heard five shots and then I didn't hear anymore shots and the kid comes galloping by with this smug look on his face."

"Five shots?" Fordham looked at the other lawmen, knowing that it was probably the kid, unbeknownst to them Jack Marston, who had committed the crime. If they could find out who the kid was, they would have their main suspect. "Phillip, can you tell me what this kid looked like?"

"Well, he was probably no older than eighteen or twenty years old. He had some facial hair, a tan jacket with a white shirt, dark pants, a gun belt with a revolver, and a dark hat with a bird feather."

When Phillip mentioned the hat, Fordham's heart skipped a beat and chills went down his spine. He remembered that John Marston always wore a hat with that exact description. But it couldn't have been John; John was killed by Edgar and the Army three years ago. Or was he? Edgar was, after all, known for his lies and deceitful nature. Perhaps John had escaped and Edgar had lied to save his damaged pride? But then why would John have exacted his revenge on Edgar three years later?

While Fordham was thinking, Howard piped in. "I remember seeing someone exactly like that a couple days ago. Boy was asking me about Edgar Ross, so I told him I'd never met him but I knew of him and he could be found at Lake Don Julio."

"And I remember him, too," Emily said. "I told him to find Edgar at the south side of the river." Suddenly it dawned on her. "Oh my god, I gave directions to my husband's killer!" This caused her to weep harder. Several of the lawmen moved in to console her, and this helped her calm down somewhat. Fordham thought to himself, putting the evidence together. He tried to figure out how John Marston could have been involved; he had been dead for three years. There was no way he was responsible. And yet...

The answer reached Fordham suddenly and quickly. "I think I know who killed him," Fordham said.

"Who?" Drew asked. "Who killed Edgar Ross?"

Fordham turned to address the group and said, "Gentlemen, we need to pay a visit to Beecher's Hope in Great Plains. If my suspicions are correct, the man responsible for Edgar Ross's death is the son of John Marston. Jack Marston."

"Jack? The teenager we took to Wattis Prison?" Drew seemed confused. "That kid never seemed dangerous to me. How do you figure?"

"Phillip told us that Edgar's killer was wearing a hat with a bird feather," Fordham said. "That's John Marston's hat. I can't think of anyone else who would have that hat but the last surviving member of the Marston family."

"But that doesn't mean it's Jack," Drew said. "Could just be a coincidence."

"Think about it, Drew," Fordham said. "Three years ago, Edgar Ross sent the army to Beecher's Hope to kill John. Jack was there when the attack happened. It must have been traumatic for him to see his father gunned down. I can't imagine what Jack's been through these past few years; must have been hard for him. His father returns home and is murdered less than a week later. It only makes sense that Jack wanted to get revenge."

"Why would he have waited all these years, though?" Drew asked.

"Edgar was still working for the Bureau until last year. Jack would have been foolish to kill him while he was still working for the Bureau. He would've been up against too many men for him to handle. Ambushing him was the only way he could get away with it without having to fight his way out immediately after killing him."

"And what about right after Edgar retired? Why didn't he kill him then?"

"I don't know. That still doesn't add up to me. Still, he's our prime suspect for now."

"What are we going to do?" Howard asked. "Arrest him? Interrogate him?"

"Let's just go there and see what happens," Fordham said. "If he cooperates, we'll just question him and bring him in if we determine he's guilty. But if he resists, we'll have to use force to arrest him."

"What if we can't bring him in alive?" Howard asked. "What if he..."

"We play it by ear, Agent Sawicki," Fordham said. Howard nodded in agreement.

"What are you waiting for?" Phillip asked angrily. "Mount up and bring that boy to justice!" The dozen lawmen mounted their horses and rode off toward Beecher's Hope, ready for anything that might happen there.


	3. A Reason To Fight

**Chapter track: The Shootist - Red Dead Redemption soundtrack**

Jack Marston leaned against the railing on the front porch, watching the sun set. Just three days earlier, he had killed his father's killer, and he had been reflecting on his actions ever since his return to Beecher's Hope. He sighed and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lit the cigarette with a match, and took a long puff. He exhaled and watched the smoke slowly ascend toward the reddish-orange sky before it dissipated.

Off in the distance, a herd of antelope galloped to the east, panicked by something. A few seconds later, a pack of four cougars darted into Jack's sight, in hot pursuit of the antelope herd. One of them, presumably the alpha male, charged ahead of the main pack and set his sights on the closest antelope, one that looked young and wasn't running as fast as the main herd. The young antelope let out a panic sound as the stronger cougar swiped at the antelope with his paw, creating a huge gouge in the animal's side. Wounded, the antelope fell to the ground and was quickly surrounded by the rest of the cougar pack.

_Those cougars have some killer instinct,_ Jack thought to himself. _I wonder if it's any similar to the killer instinct that some men have?_

The moon had risen well above the horizon by the time Jack finished his cigarette and decided to go inside. He looked back one last time and through the darkness could barely see the cougar pack feasting on the antelope. The antelope was picked almost completely clean, and the pack was fighting for scraps now. Sighing, Jack entered the house and walked into his bedroom. He turned on the lantern beside his bed and picked up his favorite book, _20,000 Leagues Under The Sea_. After just five minutes, however, Jack realized that he couldn't focus on the book and decided to turn off the lights.

Sleep evaded Jack for most of the night. Although he was satisfied with his decision to avenge his father's death, he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. Edgar Ross had been the Bureau's top agent, and he remained one of its top associates until his death. Despite his flaws, he seemed to have the interest of the people at heart, and was always willing to protect the people from dangers.

Nevertheless, he was still the man who had killed Jack's father. For several years, Jack felt himself change; his emotions became less cheerful and more depressed and angry, and many a time he wanted to just let go and give up on life. But he had stayed alive to take care of his mother, and he had pulled himself together so as not to worry her. With her gone, Jack felt like his life no longer had meaning. At this point, he didn't care if he lived or died. And he certainly shouldn't care that he had taken the life of his father's killer.

But even with all of Ross's flaws, he was still human. _People make mistakes_, Jack thought, _and Edgar Ross made a big mistake when he killed my Pa. But I don't know, maybe I made a mistake by killing him? He deserved to die, but what would Pa say if he knew what I had done? He never wanted me to live like he and Uncle Dutch did. But did I even have a choice? What if he decided to go after another innocent man? I did the right thing by killing him._

By the time Jack finally fell asleep, the sky was just barely beginning to get lighter. It was clear that Jack would not sleep well. Jack's dream was a replay of his encounter with Edgar Ross, only this time Ross won the duel. Jack could almost feel the bullets pierce his body as if it were really happening. He could feel the breath being sucked out of his body. He could feel the pain surging through his nerves, causing his internal organs to quickly shut down. He could feel his heart stop beating, and he could feel his vision become dark and murky.

This startled Jack awake. He gasped for breath and laid there in a pool of sweat, frightened by the vividness of his dream. _Is that how he felt when I killed him? _he wondered. Groggy but awake now, Jack slowly got out of bed and walked to the kitchen. He took a loaf of bread and a jar of jam out of the cabinet and made himself a sandwich. He then grabbed a glass from the cupboard, went outside to the well, and got himself a glass of water. Drinking it down, he went back into the house and ate his sandwich.

Feeling awful, Jack thought to himself, _I don't even know if I know right from wrong anymore. I feel like me killing him, whether right or wrong, stirred up somethin' inside of me, somethin' I can't quite explain. I want to be able to do what I want, and why shouldn't I? I have nothing to live for anymore. Ma's dead, Pa and Uncle died years ago, Rufus ran away, and the farm's bankrupt. Maybe I should just run away somewhere and get away from it all_.

While Jack was thinking, somebody knocked on the front door. Jack paused, wondering if the law had come for him. He hadn't considered the thought of getting caught for Edgar Ross's murder, yet he couldn't discount the fact that Ross was a very prominent figure in Blackwater law enforcement and that they would probably try to find his killer. But how could they have known it was Jack? Jack chuckled to himself, figuring he probably wouldn't have to deal with that for a while, if at all. After all, the law _was_ inefficient much of the time. Or was it?

To his dismay and horror, a voice came from behind the door that said, "Jack Marston, we're here to speak with you. Open the door immediately; we have the home surrounded." Jack vaguely recognized the voice; it was Howard Sawicki, the Bureau agent he had talked to the day he killed Edgar Ross. Scared out of his mind, Jack quickly scurried to his room, hastily got dressed, grabbed his Schofield revolver and his Bolt Action rifle, and made a run for the back door. When he opened the back door, however, he was met by Chief Archer Fordham, who quickly pushed his way into the house with four other officers.

Not knowing what to do, Jack backed up out of the hallway and into the living room, his hand hovering over his revolver. Seven more lawmen entered through the front door when Fordham opened it for them. The house was completely filled with lawmen and Jack had nowhere to run. "Don't try anything, Jack," Fordham warned, putting his hands up. "We just want to talk."

Scared and unsure how to respond, Jack said, "Why would I wanna talk to the law? Y'all killed my Pa! You're nothin' but scum."

"We just want to know if you had anything to do with the death of Edgar Ross," Fordham said. "Can you just give us that much information?"

Jack didn't respond to this, and he quickly thought about opening fire at the law officers. _But I'm so outnumbered_, Jack thought. _I'd be lucky to take down more than one before the rest killed me. I can't confess either; that'd mean goin' to jail, and I'd rather die than go back to one of them concrete cells_.

For some reason, Jack had said the last part aloud, saying, "I'd rather die than go back to one of them concrete cells." And without even thinking anymore about it, Jack quickly drew his Schofield and rushed as fast as he could for the door. The twelve officers opened fire at first, but Jack got a hold of Fordham, putting him in a headlock and putting his revolver against his head. "You wanna try anything now?" Jack asked, angry and frightened at the same time. Howard tried to shoot Jack without shooting Fordham, but the shot missed and lodged into the wall. Jack discharged two shots in his revolver and Howard fell to the ground, dead.

_Shit!_ Jack thought to himself. _Shit!_ Just a second later, however, those feelings of fear and discomfort quickly dissipated, and were replaced by some sort of emotion similar to enjoyment and elation. A smile crept into the corner of Jack's mouth as he fired three more shots and killed three more lawmen. His last shot went into the chest of another lawman, but the shot wasn't fatal and the officer simply staggered backward, wounded but still able to fight.

Knowing that Jack was out of ammunition, Fordham elbowed him in the face and quickly escaped the headlock. Jack made a mad dash for the door and tripped on the way out after a bullet grazed his shoulder. He pulled six bullets out of his gun belt and loaded them into his revolver as the remaining eight lawmen pursued him, sending a barrage of bullets his way. Jack returned fire and soon took down two more lawmen, including the one he had wounded back in the house. When he reached the barn, Jack pushed the doors open shoulder-first and bolted to the back of the barn, where he opened the back doors, preparing for an escape.

Jack leaped onto his palomino and just as he was preparing to gallop away, Drew Blankenship entered the barn. Jack quickly drew his revolver again and shot Drew four times. Despite this, Drew was able to flee before collapsing a couple yards from the barn entrance. As Jack galloped away, Fordham yelled to the remaining lawmen, "Two of you take Drew to the doctor in Blackwater! Everyone else pursue Jack with me!" Two men accompanied Fordham while the other two gingerly put Drew on a horse and rode carefully to Blackwater.

"Come on, you dumb nag, work!" Jack sniped, frustrated with how slowly the old palomino was running. He spurred the horse harder and harder, and the horse became more and more frustrated with his rider. Just fifteen yards behind Jack were Fordham and two other lawmen. Jack could tell that he wasn't going to lose them with his slow horse, so he drew his Bolt Action rifle and prepared to fire. One of the lawmen quickly caught up to Jack and yelled, "If you give up now, we won't kill you!"

"Why should I believe a lawman like you?" Jack asked angrily, sending two shots from his rifle into the lawman's chest. The lawman fell off his horse and was dead before he hit the ground. Jack looked off in the distance and saw Fordham and the other lawman riding fast toward him. Frightened again, he spurred his horse forward as the two officers fired in Jack's direction. "I'm gonna die here!" Jack exclaimed.

After several minutes, the old palomino had taken enough spurring and angrily bucked Jack off. "Shit!" Jack exclaimed as he fell to the ground. He could hear the lawmen's horses quickly catching up, and he got to his feet and aimed his rifle at the lawmen as they covered the distance between them in just seconds. The officers dismounted their horses and trained their guns on Jack. The standoff was tense; Jack narrowed his eyes at the lawmen, by now completely disgusted by them.

"Jack..." Fordham's officer began, but before he could finish, Jack sent a single rifle shot into the man's mouth, killing him instantly. Jack then trained his gun on Fordham and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Blackwater Chief of Police Archer Fordham," he responded. "And Jack, I knew your father."

Jack roared in anger and yelled, "Are you one of them bastards who killed him? Because if you are, you saw what I did to Ross and to your deputies, and I ain't afraid to do the same to you."

"I wasn't there when they attacked your farm," Fordham said. "I tried to convince Ross not to go through with it."

"Why should I believe you?" Jack asked. To his surprise, Fordham put away his pistol and raised his hands in the air to show that he wasn't a threat. Jack scoffed and put his rifle back in the sling on his back. He approached Fordham and asked, "How did you know my father?"

"Edgar and I were put in charge of John when he was working for us," Fordham responded. "I didn't like your father at first; my opinion of him was the same as Edgar's. But over time, I observed a change in him. He seemed to be sincere in his intentions to put his violent past behind him to secure a good future for him and for you and Abigail. John Marston was a good man.

"When Edgar told me he wanted to kill John, I tried to convince him that it was a bad idea. I got angry enough that I punched him and he briefly put me in jail. I was released after he returned from Beecher's Hope, and I appealed to the courts several times to have Edgar tried in court."

"Why didn't they listen to you?" Jack asked.

"Edgar Ross violated the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878 by using the Army in his raid on Beecher's Hope. The act states that the federal government, in this case represented by Edgar and the Bureau of Investigation, cannot use federal military personnel to enforce state laws. John's criminal record was cleared after all the work he did for us, and since he didn't commit any crimes after that, for two years, I appealed to courts and fought for true justice.

"But Edgar had too much power, even in the courts. Whenever he was notified of an impending trial, he would bribe or talk his way out of it. They ended up commending him for his 'achievements' rather than trying him as the criminal he was. When he retired, I realized I would never be able to get him in court, so I gave up and instead focused on keeping the people of West Elizabeth safe. Eventually I worked my way to where I am today.

"Jack, I don't know everything you're going through, but I can guess it's not good. I understand why you killed Edgar Ross, and to be brutally honest I'm not sad to see that man go. But you have to face the consequences of your actions. That's part of being a man, Jack. You have to come to Blackwater with me and pay for what you've done."

"I can't now," Jack said. "Killing one man might've put me in prison for life, but I just killed eight more lawmen. I ain't ashamed of what I done, but they'll kill me for this, and I'd rather kill myself than be put to death by the men who killed my father."

"Jack, not all lawmen are bad," Fordham said. "What about me? I don't want to kill you, Jack; I never even aimed at you. And I tried to stop Ross from killing John. I did everything I could. Killing John wasn't true justice. But killing Ross was." Fordham paused for a moment, then said, "Fine. I suppose I could ride back to Blackwater and just tell them that you escaped. But they won't stop looking until they find you. I suggest you get out of the country, go to Mexico. You'll be safe from the law there. Nobody will think to look for you there."

"I been thinkin' about going down there lately," Jack confessed. "Guess now's the time for that. I'll find a way to make it work."

"Exactly. Good luck, Jack," Fordham said, tipping his hat in respect. "I'll do what I can to prevent them from tracking you down. But you owe me for this." Jack watched Fordham ride away, and found that he had some respect for him. _He's the only lawman I can trust_, Jack thought to himself. _Pa must've made a really good impression on him_. Jack whistled for the palomino, and the old animal, still bitter over Jack's mistreatment, walked up slowly. Jack went over and patted the horse on the head.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Jack said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. We need to get back to the ranch, pack up as much as we can. We're leavin' this hell hole called America as soon as we can."


	4. Exodus in Mexico

**Sorry for the late update, I just moved into an apartment and I've been adjusting to life there. I actually have a couple more chapters done right now, so I'll try to post them within the next week or two.**

**Chapter track: Run Away - Stain'd**

Jack galloped back to the ranch as quickly as he could, wasting absolutely no time in getting ready for his escape. He climbed up into the attic and packed as many weapons as would fit in his saddle bag, which included his father's high-power pistol, a Winchester repeater, some throwing knives, a sawed-off shotgun, and a scoped carcano rifle. Jack doubted he needed the scoped weapon, but he figured it was better to be prepared. He grabbed ammunition for all of these weapons and climbed back down the ladder.

Next, Jack went to his dresser and packed a few things from there, but he realized that he didn't have enough clothes so he decided to see if any of his father's clothes would fit him. He quickly walked over to his father's room and opened the large dresser. From there, he grabbed a poncho that his father had received from some Mexican when he was down there, a bandolier, his father's old duster coat, a few other outfits, and his father's old map of Mexico. While looking through the dresser, Jack found the bloodied ranch clothes that his father had worn on that horrible day three years ago. Suppressing his emotions, Jack simply closed the dresser and packed the poncho. He put on the duster and bandolier and walked to the kitchen, grabbing as much food as he could. Once all of his packing had been completed, he hopped back on his horse and rode away.

While riding, Jack could do nothing but think to himself. He wondered why Fordham had shown mercy, and especially wondered why he was so willing to let Jack go. He couldn't help but feel that was a little suspicious, even given Fordham's opinion of his father. But was that even the truth? Jack was under the impression that lawmen were constant liars, and so he considered the possibility that all of this was a trap. _Are there gonna be federal agents waiting for me at the border?_ Jack wondered. _I sure as hell hope not, for their sake. I'd shoot 'em all down before lettin' them take me_.

Within two hours, Jack had reached Plainview. He wanted to stop and rest a while, but he figured he should keep going. Still, the welcoming wave of town residents was enough to get Jack to stop just near one of the oil platforms. _Can't hurt to stop for a while_, Jack thought to himself. He got off his horse and approached a small table, where a strong-looking gentleman waved toward Jack and asked, "You wanna arm wrestle, kid?"

"I'm good, thanks," Jack responded.

"Aw, come on! You look like a healthy and strong boy. Can't hurt you to try."

"Alright then," Jack said, "but get ready to lose."

"Ah, the arrogance of youth!" the man said, chuckling. "We'll see, boy. We'll see." Jack sat down and extended his arm out, and the man did the same. The two men clasped hands together and prepared to go. "I'll count to three," the man said. "One, two, three!"

At his signal, the man began pushing. Jack pushed as hard as he could, and surprisingly took the man down in just a few seconds. The man shook his arm and said, "Damn boy, you got skill! Care to put money on it this time?"

"Don't have much money, sir," Jack said.

"How about five dollars?" the man asked, ignoring what Jack had just said. "That ain't much."

Jack sighed. "Alright, fine," he said. The two prepared to arm wrestle again, and Jack counted down this time. "Three, two, one!" For some reason, the man pushed much harder this time, and Jack struggled just to stay even with the man. After thirty seconds, Jack began to weaken and the man began pushing even harder. Just a few seconds after that, Jack's hand was slammed down onto the table. The two men stood up.

"Hey! You went easy on me so I'd bet and you'd win!" Jack snarled, his eyes narrowing. "You cheated me!"

Laughing, the man said, "Oh come on now, it's nothin' new. Now pay up."

"I ain't payin' you," Jack said. "You're a rat bastard!" Upon hearing this, the man threw a punch at Jack. Having anticipated this, Jack bobbed out of the way and threw a right hook at the man's face. The man blocked this by pushing Jack's arm out of the way with his left arm and kicked Jack in the stomach. Jack toppled over but quickly got back to his feet. He tackled the man to the ground and managed to get one good punch in before the man kicked him off.

By now, the fight had drawn a small crowd of workers. They were letting out cheers such as, "Come on, Buck! He's just a kid! You can take him!" and "The kid's pertty tough. He might actually win." The group began placing bets on who the victor would be; most people's money was on Buck, but some people bet on the strange kid who had just rode into town.

Jack and Buck stood just four feet apart, both men seething with anger and waiting for the other to make a move. Jack faked a left and threw a right, and his punch landed on the side of Buck's jaw. Buck staggered backward a couple steps but quickly regained his stance and threw a hard left. Jack tried to move out of the way, but the punch still landed on his shoulder. Buck then proceeded to tackle Jack to the ground, and he held him there for several seconds until Jack finally squirmed free and moved backward a few yards.

Frustrated and not knowing what else to do, Jack pulled his revolver on Buck. Buck drew his own in return and the Plainview residents fled for cover. Jack opened fire and Buck did the same. None of Buck's shots hit Jack directly, but one of them pierced his duster. Jack's shots, on the other hand, were more accurate. Two bullets pierced Buck's chest and another went directly into his stomach. Out of nowhere, Jack found himself laughing and cheering at his newest kill. He walked over to Buck's body and looted it. He discovered that Buck had no money on him, but he did have a bottle with some kind of liquid. Jack examined the label, which read, "N. W. Dickens' Elixir".

A second later, a hail of gunfire was directed at Jack by many of Plainview's residents. Knowing he was heavily outnumbered and wanting to get to Mexico as quickly as possible, Jack hopped back onto his palomino and galloped away. Some of the people gave chase, but they retreated as quickly as the pursuit had started. _That was fun!_ Jack thought. _It was wrong, but it was fun! _Jack rode along the San Luis River toward the Ramita de la Baya Bridge, more ready than ever to enter his new home. One problem he encountered, however, was a problem that just a week before hadn't existed. Border patrol.

One of the border patrol agents signaled Jack to stop, and Jack's anger and frustration boiled to a critical point again. "What do you want?" he asked angrily.

"Calm down, boy," the lawman responded, not recognizing Jack. "We're just here to protect our borders. Now are you affiliated with any gangs around here?"

"No, and if I was I certainly wouldn't tell you," Jack said. "Now why the hell are you here?"

"We've increased border security ever since Edgar Ross was murdered," the man said. "Edgar Ross was a top agent in the Bureau of Investigation until last year, and remained one of its closest associates until his death."

Jack suddenly thought of a way to get past border patrol. He lied, "But he was a good man. Who killed him?"

"We think it was Jack Marston. Have you seen him lately?"

Doing everything he could to keep from laughing, Jack said, "No sir. I never even heard of Jack Marston."

"We want to bring him in as soon as we can. It'll be trial and the rope for him, the bastard outlaw. Why would anyone want to kill Edgar Ross? He was a good man, damn it! And his family! They're so devastated!"

"I don't know, sir," Jack said, feeling no sympathy for Ross's family.

"That's why we have more border security. We don't want anythin' like that to happen again. You understand now?"

"Yes sir," Jack responded.

"Alright, I'll let you be on your way if you answer one question for me. Why are you going to Mexico?"

"Just look at my saddle bags," Jack said, pointing at them. "I'm goin' on vacation for a couple weeks. I'm meetin' my family in...uh...well I can't remember the name of the place, but I know exactly where I'm goin'."

The agent nodded. "Alright, be on your way then." As Jack rode toward the bridge, the agent noticed the bullet hole in Jack's duster. "'Scuse me, kid, but where did you get that bullet hole?"

"Oh, it ain't a bullet hole, sir," Jack said casually, "just a moth hole." The officer thought about it for a second, then shrugged and motioned Jack onward. Once Jack was out of earshot, he began laughing at the stupidity of the agents. _Typical lawmen_, Jack thought. _That's funny; they didn't recognize me!_

Just across the border, however, one of the other agents slapped the one that had let Jack pass. "You idiot!" he exclaimed. "That was Jack Marston!"

"What? Why didn't you do somethin' then?"

"Why didn't you? We got a clear description of the boy from Blackwater, and you...hell, I don't even know why you're workin' for the government, you stupid jackass!"

"I didn't know!" he argued. "And why didn't you do somethin'?"

"I was waitin' for you to do somethin'! We gotta let them know he's gone to Mexico! Come on!" While a few of the border patrol agents stayed behind, three of them rode to Armadillo, where they wired to Blackwater that Jack had fled to Mexico.

Meanwhile, in Mexico, Jack had stopped near the spot where he had killed Edgar Ross. Phillip had been in such a rush that he had forgotten to take down his camp, and Jack decided to rest there to try and find a place to stay in Mexico. He pulled out his father's old map and looked for the nearest settlement. According to the map, the nearest settlement of size was Chuparosa, so that's where Jack decided to head off to next. Before leaving, Jack pulled out a couple slices of bacon from his saddle bag, started a fire, and cooked himself up a meal. As he ate, he wished he had packed coffee beans so he could enjoy a nice cup of coffee.

Once he had finished eating, Jack climbed back onto his horse and rode for Chuparosa. On the way, he tried to figure out a way to get a house. He remembered a few years ago that his father had mentioned something about owning a home in Chuparosa, but he didn't know if it had been sold since then. _If it has been, I'll have to take it by force_, Jack thought. It was dark by the time he reached Chuparosa, and most people were in their homes, save for one man who looked more American than Mexican. Jack tipped his hat, but the man just glared at him, as if he knew exactly who he was and what he had done. Jack rolled his eyes and began searching for a vacant home. Finding none, he walked back to the center of town and sat near the fountain, trying to think of how best to steal a home.

The other man, who was, in fact, American, spoke up. "You new to town?" he asked.

"I guess I am," Jack said. "Are there any homes available 'round here?"

"There's John Marston's old home," the man said, pointing toward it. "It hasn't been occupied since his last trip down here."

"How do you know John Marston?" Jack asked.

The man's eyes widened. "Wait, you kinda look like him. You wouldn't happen to be his son, would you?"

"Uh...I am, I guess," Jack said.

"You guess? Or you know?" The man laughed, offering Jack his hand. "I'm Cole. Pleasure to meet you...Jack, right?" Jack nodded. "How's your father?"

Jack sucked in a deep breath and turned away, horrible memories flooding back into his mind. Cole seemed to understand and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I've been in Mexico for the last ten years of my life; I rarely ever hear what happens in America." Jack remained silent, so Cole added, "You're welcome to stay in his old home. Like I said, nobody's been there for a long time. I reckon it's dusty, but it'll do for you."

"Thanks," Jack mumbled insincerely. He walked into his father's old room and dropped his gun belt on the floor. Unexpectedly, there was a knock on the door. When Jack opened it, Cole was on the other side.

"Just one question, Jack. What are you doing all the way in Mexico?"

"I couldn't stay in America anymore," Jack said. "I got nothin' up there. My family is dead, my dog's run off to who knows where, and...I don't know, just seems like everyone up there is out to get me."

"I know what you mean, Jack," Cole said. "That's why my father and I came down here ten years ago. To get away from it all. Were the newspapers botherin' you too?"

"No," Jack said, "and what do you mean by that? Why would the newspapers want anythin' to do with me?"

"Well, John was pretty famous and you're his son, so I just assumed that you'd have a lot of journalists knockin' on your door."

"Never spoken to one in my life," Jack said. "How come they were after you and your father?"

"Let's just say we're both well known up there," Cole said vaguely. "Anyway, my father's dead too, so I guess it don't matter."

"Who are you?" Jack asked again.

"Just a stranger, Jack," Cole said mysteriously. "Just a stranger." At that, he left Jack alone. _What was that about? _Jack thought. _Who could he be? Someone famous? His father, too; maybe the family is famous. I don't know; that guy is weird_. Jack removed his hat and laid down on the dusty bed, but sleep eluded him. He kept thinking of the men he had killed, how he had felt nothing when he shot them. _I'm becoming a cold-hearted killer, like my father and Uncle Dutch were when I was a boy. I should've known it would happen sooner or later. _After several hours, Jack finally fell asleep.


	5. Al Margen de la Ley (The Outlaw)

**Author's note: I'm guilty of using Google Translate for most of the Spanish in this chapter (and the entire fanfic, actually), so if I did something wrong, speak up. Here's Chapter 5; in this chapter, Jack runs into a familiar face. Well, sort of familiar. Read on to see what I'm talking about.**

* * *

**Chapter track: Born Unto Trouble - Red Dead Redemption soundtrack**

The sound of a rooster woke Jack from his slumber, which had been a short one. He groaned in frustration and slowly slid out of bed, wearing only his long johns. The rooster kept crowing as Jack snatched up his revolver and loaded a few bullets into it. He slowly exited his room and quickly found the annoying fowl, which was just wandering aimlessly around. Jack cocked his weapon and fired a single shot into the rooster's body, shutting it up and killing it instantly. Satisfied, Jack went back to his room and got dressed. Once he had finished getting dressed, he stepped outside again and heard a Mexican freaking out about his rooster.

"A_lguien ha matado a mi gallo!_" the man cried. "Q_uién mató a mi gallo_?"

Jack chuckled as he walked to the small bar in town. He purchased a small bottle of tequila (which he had never had before) and walked back outside, where he sat at one of the tables and quickly downed most of his drink. Having made this purchase, Jack had just spent most of the money he had brought along. _I'm gonna need more pesos if I want to stay here_, Jack thought. _I could look for some honest work, but that's no fun. Might as well have a little fun while I'm down here, right? I think I'm gonna get the money the way my Pa did when I was a kid_.

Jack swallowed down the last few drops of tequila, enjoying the relatively sweet taste of the beverage. _Better than whiskey_, he thought to himself. He stood up and walked to his horse, somewhat drunk but still able to walk semi-straight. It took him two tries to get on his horse, but he finally got up and pulled out his father's map of Mexico. He studied the roads and decided to stake out the main road southwest of Chuparosa. He folded the map back up neatly, put it away in his satchel, and headed off to his destination.

Once there, he went to the top of a ridge south of the road and pulled out his binoculars, waiting for a target. He didn't want to just rob the first person that passed by; he was looking for big money. He was waiting for some kind of stage coach or freight wagon, and the first one of those he saw, he would attack. He didn't know exactly how that would all go down, but he did know that he could probably overpower anyone who was on the coach.

A small semblance of morality, however, made Jack think. _Should I really be doing this? _he wondered. _I don't know if Pa would approve of this. But what does that matter? He's dead, and he was like this when he was my age. And besides, I need money, and I might as well have fun while getting it. Ain't that right? I never did have toys or anythin' to play with when I was a kid. Thinkin' about it, my Pa made me the way I am today. I ain't gonna let this morality bullshit stop me now_.

A few hours passed with no sign of a stage coach or freight wagon, and Jack began to grow impatient. He didn't expect one to come right away, but he figured he'd have gotten one by now. _Be patient, Jack_, he thought, _they'll come soon enough_. Sure enough, just a few minutes later, a fancy-looking dark stagecoach came passing by. Jack read the words "N. W. Dickens' Elixir" on the side and recalled having held a bottle that said the same thing just the day before. _He must do a good business. He's probably got a lot of money. Time to move in on this Dickens fellow_. Jack nudged his horse forward, drawing his revolver as he did so. When he reached the wagon, Jack pointed his gun at Nigel West Dickens and yelled, "Put yer hands in the air, mister! Yer bein' robbed!"

"Please, sir, leave me be!" Nigel begged. When he caught sight of his robber, however, he gasped. "Oh my God," he mumbled. "It can't be. No no, that _can't_ be you! You look much too young! Much too young indeed!"

"What are you babblin' about, old man?" Jack asked, annoyed.

"You...you even sound young! John, I told you my elixir works! Not so skeptical now, eh?"

"Huh? John? You have me mistaken for someone else, you stupid old man," Jack said. "Now I want you to give me your money now!"

"I...don't have much in the way of money, but if you let me be I will give you a free bottle of my elixir! It will rejuvenate you, it will improve your appearance, and..."

"Are you callin' me ugly?" Jack asked, his temper rising. He tensed his finger on the trigger, preparing to fire.

"No! Dear God no! I just...please let me go!"

"If you got no money, you're useless to me anyway," Jack said. "Go on now. And don't stop, 'cause I might change my mind." To his surprise, Nigel didn't move an inch; he just kept staring at Jack, trying to figure out why he recognized him. After about a minute of this, Jack said, "Well, get a move on, mister! Now!"

"Just a moment, sir. I swear I've seen you before. Perhaps you've heard of John Marston?"

"Perhaps? What do you mean 'perhaps'? John Marston is my father," Jack said. "I'm Jack Marston."

"You're John Marston's boy? My dear boy, I was friends with your father. In fact, we were close partners. He helped me close many sales, indeed he did."

"Wait, he mentioned some sleazy guy who was selling snake oil and claimin' it could cure everything. That was you?"

"Yes! Yes, sir, that was me. Indeed it was. Did he ever tell you of the time we escaped from Plainview?"

"Escaped? What, were your customers a little too satisfied?" Jack asked sarcastically.

"Ah, you even have your father's wit," Nigel remarked.

"Listen, as much as I'd love to hear stories about what you and my father did years ago, I really oughta be on my way."

"Ah, but my boy, you shouldn't be robbing people like this," Nigel said.

"How is what you do any better than what I do?" Jack asked.

"What I do is more honest than what you do, Jack."

"Not by much, sir," Jack said, chuckling.

"Well, I must be off. Jack, it was a...uh, pleasure to meet you. And listen, I feel as though I owe your father a debt, and while you and I have gotten off to a...shall we say, tragic start, if you need anything from me, I'll be in Escalera for the next week. Come find me."

"I'll try my best not to," Jack remarked. "Goodbye, Mr. Dickens." Nigel rode off further down the road and Jack returned to his scouting position on top of the hill. _That was strange_, Jack thought. _I never knew I'd run into someone from my father's travels. Well, except for Edgar Ross_. Jack chuckled to himself as he recalled the day he had killed Edgar Ross. Though he had killed a couple men before, that was during the assault on Beecher's Hope and those kills were in self-defense. Edgar Ross was Jack's first cold-blooded kill, and he had made several others after that, each becoming more enjoyable to him. He grinned as he recalled the looks on each man's face when he killed them, the fear in their eyes as they knew it was the end for them.

_I don't even know why Pa gave this up_, Jack thought. _This is a hell of a lifestyle! I'm havin' the time of my life!_ Jack became lost in his thoughts, and almost didn't notice the large wagon that was passing right in front of him. Jack snapped back into reality and thought of how best to proceed. He saw that there were three army officers on the wagon and two on horseback, but there were no other soldiers besides them. Jack wished he had brought his carcano rifle on this robbery; he could have easily taken out one or two of them before moving in on them.

Sighing, he pulled his Bolt Action rifle out of its sling and took careful aim at the soldier that was driving the wagon. Sure enough, the shot hit the soldier directly in the shoulder, and he fell to the ground. As the other soldiers quickly scoped the area for the attacker, Jack fired another shot, sending a bullet through the skull of one of the soldiers on horseback. Jack's third shot missed; the bullet hit the sand next to the other soldier on horseback.

The three remaining soldiers finally found Jack and began shooting at him. Jack slid to cover behind a rock and returned fire, easily taking down two soldiers. The third soldier timidly approached Jack's hiding place, scared out of his mind on account of his dead comrades. Jack laughed as he heard the man praying in Spanish, and he shouted, "Prayer ain't gonna save your life, amigo." Jack stood up out of cover and the man screamed and clumsily aimed his gun at Jack. Jack shook his head and shot the man just above the heart.

Having finished his work, Jack walked slowly to the wagon and looked inside. To his delight, the army had been transporting money to be added to the country's reserve, and by the looks of it there were millions of pesos right in front of Jack. Knowing that he couldn't just roll into town with all this loot, Jack again pulled out his father's map of Mexico and looked for a good place to hide his new-found fortune. He decided to hide it just south of his current location, directly south of the bend in the road so that he could remember where it was.

Once he had driven the wagon to its hiding place, he grabbed about 50,000 pesos and put all the money into his satchel. He then whistled for his horse and hopped on, still ecstatic over his first robbery and how large it was. _I bet that would've made Pa proud!_ Jack thought arrogantly. He rode quickly back to Chuparosa, and once he arrived he walked into the saloon and bought drinks for everybody in the bar, much to their delight. Jack's sudden influx of money made one Chuparosan suspicious, however; Cole watched Jack's party with narrowed eyes, and he made the decision then to keep an eye on Jack while he was in Mexico.

* * *

Meanwhile, one of the soldiers that Jack had shot survived the attack. He had managed to crawl to the side of the road, but with no horse or wagon, things looked bleak for the man. After fifteen minutes, a lone rider from America came across the wounded Mexican soldier, and the man said, "Señor, I can give you a ride to Escalera if you want me to."

"Si, I would like that very much," the man said, grunting. The American helped the soldier onto his horse, and together the two rode to Escalera. Once there, the soldier was moved to the hospital, but not before he told another soldier in town, "Send a telegraph to President Reyes. A thief has just stolen five million pesos!" Following these orders, the soldier quickly rushed to the telegraph office and tapped out the message.

Just a few seconds later, Reyes's personal telegrapher received the message and called on Reyes. "Señor Reyes, one of our wagons has been robbed. Five million pesos have been taken."

"_Que_?" Reyes asked angrily. "What did I tell them about moving money like that, huh? They should never have that much money in just one wagon! _Dios mio_! Who robbed our wagon?"

"I don't know, Señor Reyes," the man responded, afraid for his life. Reyes was well-known for having a short temper and killing anyone who caused his temper to blow. "But whoever he was, the soldiers told me he was wearing a cowboy hat."

"A cowboy hat? Many people in this country wear cowboy hats! Was there anything unique about this man? Anything at all?"

"They said he had some kind of feather in his hat. The hat was black and it had a feather."

An idea as to who it could have been popped into Reyes's mind. "It could have been the gringo that played a small role in my coming to power. His name was...uh...Ron. No, wait, it was...uh...oh! John! John Marston! Haha, he must have come back to Mexico."

"You mean the man that was looking for Escuella and Williamson? I remember him. Why would he be going against you?"

"I don't know, but I want to talk to him. I need you to tell my soldiers in Escalera to find where John is staying. Tell them to search all of Nuevo Paraiso for the man with the dark cowboy hat with the feather. I want him brought to me so that he can explain what he has done, and then maybe we can have a drink and think about old times. And just maybe he can help me with other matters too."

"Maybe, señor."

"Don't just stand there, you _campesino_! Go! Get the word out!"

_John Marston_, Reyes thought. _I never thought I would see that man again. What could he be doing in Mexico? Maybe he has returned because he thinks I need his help? I could use an extra gun, and John was always good with his guns. This may be just what Mexico needs to put down the criminals. I cannot wait to speak to him again._

* * *

"Alright, how do you like that?" Jack yelled to the crowd as he bought them each their fifth shot of tequila. The crowd cheered and Jack laughed, appreciating all the attention. Cole remained outside the saloon, staring coldly at Jack, disapproving of his actions. Jack looked over at Cole and motioned toward the saloon, but Cole shook his head and lifted his hand, signaling that he wasn't interested. Jack sighed and turned back to the crowd, who remained jubilant and happy.

An hour later, most of the crowd had dissipated and Jack approached Cole. "Alright, why didn't you let me buy you anything?" he asked.

"I knew there was somethin' wrong with you the moment you came to Mexico, Jack," Cole said coldly. "You're nothing more than a pathetic excuse for a man. Hell, you're so immature I shouldn't even be calling you a man. Your father would be ashamed of you."

Jack burned with anger, and he threw a punch at Cole. Cole simply caught Jack's fist and took a step back. "I don't want to fight you, Jack," he said.

"Then you're a coward," Jack sneered. "I bet I could take you on any day."

"Fine. Meet me here at dawn. We'll have ourselves a duel."

"Alright then. I hope you make peace with God tonight, 'cause you ain't gonna be alive tomorrow."

"It's you that needs to make peace with God, Jack, and not because you're going to lose this duel. See you in the morning."

* * *

**In the next chapter we'll learn a little more about Cole, but who do you guys think he is? What do you think his story is? Leave your thoughts in the reviews, and as always, thanks for reading.**


	6. The Duelist's Tragedy

**Author's note: I used more Spanish in this chapter than I did last chapter, so again, if I messed something up, don't be afraid to speak up. In this chapter, we learn a lot more about Cole and a little bit about another familiar character. **

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**Chapter track: Dead Eye - Middle Class Rut**

Jack and Cole were both awake long before sunrise, as both of them were nervous about the duel. Cole knew that Jack had nothing to lose and would have no problem gunning him down. In contrast, Cole had a lot of respect for Jack's father, and he thought that if he killed Jack, he would be dishonoring John Marston's name. Still, Cole realized that Jack was arrogant and needed to be taught a lesson. He knew that this duel had to go perfectly or he could lose his life.

Jack hooked his gun belt around his waist and removed the revolver. He pulled a rag out of his small nightstand and started cleaning the weapon. He wanted it to look its best when he killed Cole. _Cole ain't nothin' but an arrogant idiot_, Jack thought. _He must have a bigger death wish than I do. What kind of idiot challenges a Marston to a duel and expects to win? I'll make his death quick so I can send a message to everyone else not to mess with me._

Once Jack had finished cleaning his weapon, he noticed something he hadn't seen before. Engraved on the barrel were the initials "L. R." _What could that mean? _Jack wondered. He recalled that Landon Ricketts had given his father the revolver three years earlier, so he guessed that those initials belonged to the famed gunman. _The only man that could beat a Marston in a duel is a Ricketts,_ Jack thought jokingly, chuckling. Ready for the duel now, Jack put his gun back in its holster and waited for the sun to rise.

An hour later, Jack and Cole emerged from their respective homes, completely prepared for the duel. Jack wore his hat low so as to give off an ominous appearance, and he glared at Cole as the two approached the dueling location right in front of the bank. Cole wore a white button-up shirt, blue Levi jeans, a jet black duster, and a black cowboy hat. His gun, an authentic 1873 Colt Single Action Army revolver, hung on his left side, unusual for a gunman.

Noticing this, Jack remarked, "I ain't never killed a lefty before."

"Well you're not killing me today, boy," Cole retorted in a low but unsettled voice.

"You sure about that?" Jack asked arrogantly. "Ever heard of Edgar Ross? I killed him in a duel not too long ago! I sure as hell can kill you."

"Edgar Ross? That government man from Blackwater? I heard someone killed him at Rio Del Toro. Not surprised it was you. Why'd you do it?"

"Stop wastin' my time and let's get this duel over with. I got places to be."

"You mean people to rob? I'd hate to keep you from that," Cole remarked sarcastically. "But tell you what, I'll give you one chance to back out. Trust me, boy, you can't win a duel against me."

Jack laughed. "Who do you think you are, anyway? Landon Ricketts?"

"No, Jack. I told you, I'm just a stranger. When we're done here, you'll probably forget about me. So I take it that you still want to go through with the duel?"

"Ain't it obvious?" Jack asked.

"Alright, your funeral." Dozens of Chuparosa residents gathered around as Jack and Cole prepared to draw. Unbeknownst to Jack, Cole had been involved in several duels prior to this one, and he had won every single one of them. Bets were passed around as to who would win the duel, the son of John Marston or one of Chuparosa's most popular characters. While Jack's breathing was labored, Cole breathed calmly and completely relaxed his mind, mentally preparing for the draw. He noticed Jack's breathing and felt almost sorry for the inexperienced gunman.

After waiting the standard five seconds, the two men drew their weapons. Although Cole was left-handed, he was much quicker to the draw. The moment that Jack pulled his revolver out of its holster, Cole was firing his. A single shot was sent from the barrel of Cole's revolver to the top of Jack's gun. The gun flew out of Jack's hand and landed in the dirt fifteen feet away. A small dent marked where the bullet had scraped against the gun, but otherwise the gun was still usable. Jack looked at Cole in complete shock.

"I told you, Jack. You never had a chance," Cole said, still aiming his gun at Jack. The crowd dispersed as Jack stared at Cole confoundedly.

"Who are you?" Jack asked again.

Cole put his revolver back in its holster. "My name is Cole Ricketts. You've obviously heard of my father. He taught me everything I know, which was considerably tricky given my left hand."

"Wait...our fathers knew each other," Jack stammered. He walked over to his revolver, picked it up, and put it back in the holster.

"That's right. Frankly, I'm shocked that such a great man raised a piece of shit like you. You're a terrible gunman, your morals are far too loose, and you need a lot of work before you can call yourself a man. You're a pitiful excuse for a human being, Jack Marston, and I knew that the moment you came to Chuparosa."

"My father ain't the only one to blame," Jack said. "But he did play a big role in makin' me who I am now. He tried to set a good example for me, but I knew his outlaw life better than I knew his good life. His outlaw influence, Uncle Dutch's influence, and everyone else we used to run with made me who I am. The government also had a hand in it; they attacked our farm and killed my father in cold blood. That's why I killed Edgar Ross; I wanted revenge. I would've done it sooner, except my Ma needed me. She was sick. I laid her to rest almost a week ago, and that was the final straw for me."

"Jack...I had no idea your father died that way. What happened?"

"Edgar Ross sent over about fifty soldiers three years ago, not even a week after they told him that he could come home. They killed Uncle, a family friend, pretty quickly. He was a brave man. He died protecting our family. Then after we held off more soldiers Pa sent Ma and me away on a horse and told us he would catch up. Both of us knew he wouldn't. About a minute later we hear a lot of gunshots, so we rode back to the ranch and..." Jack paused, getting his emotions under control. "He was dead. Full of lead, covered in blood. He tried to kill 'em all, but it was too much for him."

"Good God," Cole remarked, shaking his head. "I never knew. It's no wonder you killed Edgar Ross. I probably would have done the same thing if that had happened to my father."

"How did your father die?" Jack asked. "Last I heard, Landon had moved back to America and was still alive."

"He was, up until about a month ago. He moved to Chicago soon after John left Mexico, and he was working on an autobiography. I was living in Chuparosa at the time, but we sent letters to each other nearly every day. Then the letters just stopped comin', and a while later I read in the paper that my father was dead."

"What was it like growin' up with Landon Ricketts?" Jack asked.

Cole chuckled. "You know, Jack, you remind me of them boys from the newspaper. But I feel more comfortable talkin' to you, if only barely, so I'll tell you. It was...adventurous, to say the least. We lived in Blackwater when I was a kid. It wasn't as big then as it is now; they were just barely starting to build the courthouse when I was living there. The roads weren't even paved yet. Think of it as a slightly bigger version of Armadillo, if you've ever been there."

"Did you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No, I was an only child. Guess that's why I always did better on my own. Anyway, so we lived in Blackwater. We held school in the church back then. My mother stayed at home and my father was kind of a vigilante, of sorts."

"What do you mean?"

"He kind of served his own type of justice, you know? He obeyed the laws, paid his taxes and all, but his way of justice wasn't always the way that actual lawmen practiced. My father had a much happier trigger finger than most other lawmen, and that sometimes got him into trouble. He was only arrested once, but he was acquitted. He was quite popular around town, but not with my mother. She didn't like his line of work, and they fought all the time. Still, most everyone loved him, and not just in Blackwater. He helped out everywhere he could. That's another thing my mother didn't like; he was gone a lot."

"What do you think was the worst fight he was ever in?" Jack asked curiously.

"That would be his fight with the Butcher Brothers. That was probably around 1895 or 1896. I was sixteen or seventeen, and actually I was involved in that. My father started teaching me how to shoot when I was about three years old, believe it or not. I was just a tiny kid and he gave me one of them pistols with the barrel sawed off so I could carry it. It was still pretty big, though.

"Anyway, the Butcher Brothers rode into town dragging a hostage on a rope. They wanted to hang him on the courthouse, so they did. Poor guy was near death by the time my father and I reached the scene. We had a house on Main Street, but it was a couple blocks from the courthouse. My father shot the rope from about fifty yards away, and it was a direct hit. We both took cover and started fighting the Butcher Brothers. It was a good-sized gang, maybe twenty, thirty men. My father told me to run back home and said he would take care of it. I ran back home and a bunch of lawmen ran past me to the scene. Within five minutes, it was all over. Four lawmen died, but all of the Butcher Brothers gang were killed and my father had not a scratch on him. My father got a lot of the credit for this."

"When did you come to Mexico?" Jack asked.

"I think I told you before, it was about ten years ago. We moved to California, away from West Elizabeth and New Austin, but the newspapers were still knockin' on our door, wantin' to interview my father. Some of them wanted to interview me. We got tired of those vultures, but the only thing holdin' us back was my mother. She didn't like the idea of movin' to Mexico. When she died, my father and I moved to Mexico. He came to Chuparosa and met your father a few years later."

"Were you livin' in Chuparosa when my father was here?" Jack asked.

"Sadly, no. I was living in Mexico City at the time. My father wanted me to be independent. I wish I could have met him, though; my father spoke very well of him. He said he sometimes gave John a hard time, but he actually cared about him a lot. He told me that John was the most skilled gunman he had ever met; besides himself, of course." Cole winked when he said this last part.

"So how did you end up in Chuparosa?" Jack asked.

"After John left Mexico, my father decided to move back to America. It happened after John helped my father liberate some prisoners. He crossed the border and never crossed back over. He moved to Chicago and started writing an autobiography of his life. I left Mexico City when Reyes's rebels stormed the capital, soon after my father left Chuparosa. It was leave or be killed in that godforsaken war. At first I moved to Plainview and tried oil mining, but that didn't work and I moved back to this hellhole. The rebellion was over by then and Reyes was in power, but now we're closer than ever to fightin' a new revolution."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked.

"My father told me that your father helped Abraham Reyes kill several important people involved with the Mexican government. Because of this, Reyes was able to seize power in Mexico City. The official story is that our former president fled the scene of the battle, but one of my friends down here told me he saw Reyes kill Sanchez in cold blood. Sanchez was attempting to surrender, but Reyes would not allow it and instead killed him.

"After Reyes seized power, he made all these promises to lead Mexico into a new golden age. But now, the country's in deeper debt than it was under Sanchez. Sanchez wasn't the greatest, but I'd rather choose him as president than Reyes on any day. Reyes is a tyrant, a horrible man who will ruin Mexico. There is a rebellion force that's starting to gain ground, but I doubt anything will come of it. Reyes has too much power."

"Why would my father help a tyrant to power?" Jack asked.

"Reyes helped John capture Javier Escuella and kill Bill Williamson, so he helped John a great deal. But John had no idea that Reyes would end up like this. Nobody could have known. If Reyes has one good quality, it's his charisma. He's charismatic enough that if he tells you he's going to kill you, you'll lean forward into the barrel of his gun and wait patiently for him to pull the trigger."

Just when Cole finished speaking, four army soldiers approached the two men. "Hey gringo! We've come for you!" one of them said, moving toward Jack. Cole stepped between the two of them and stared the soldier down.

"_Qué quieres con mi amigo?_" he asked.

"_Presidente Reyes nos dijo que le trajera a él_," the soldier responded. "_Hazte a un lado._"

"_Por qué quiere hablar con él?_" Cole asked.

"_No se. Dile que venga con nosotros._"

"Jack, Reyes wants to see you," Cole told Jack.

"What? What the hell would he want with me?" Jack asked. "I've never even met him!"

"I don't know, but you best not keep him waiting. Good luck, Jack. You'll need it."

"I don't need luck. I'm a Marston," Jack bragged.

Cole scoffed. "Whatever you say, Jack. Whatever you say."

"_V__àmonos_!_"_ the soldier said to Jack. Jack took one last look at Cole, then followed the soldiers to a small wagon parked just south of Chuparosa. One of the soldiers politely helped Jack into the wagon and they started for Mexico City.


	7. King of Tyrants

**Author's note: Thanks so much for the reviews and faves everyone! Here's the next chapter.**

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**Chapter track: The Tyrant – Lorne Balfe (Assassins Creed 3 soundtrack) **

Jack sat back in the wagon, trying to relax while his captors were taking him to Mexico's capital. He had absolutely no idea what Reyes wanted with him; he had heard his father speak of him, but he never knew his name until Cole had mentioned it. How could Reyes have known Jack? More importantly, how could he have known that Jack was in Mexico? Jack pondered these questions as the wagon left Nuevo Paraiso and the westernmost boundary of his father's Mexico map.

"Where are you taking me?" Jack asked.

"To Mexico City. President Reyes would like to speak to you," a soldier said.

"Why? What does he want with me?"

"He said he wants to catch up with an old friend."

"You've got me mistaken for someone else, mister. I've never even met President Reyes."

"That's impossible. He gave your exact description to us. Do not lie, Señor Marston."

Shocked that they apparently knew his name, Jack just sat back and waited for the wagon to reach Mexico City. The wagon rocked back and forth gently, slowly lulling Jack to sleep. Jack's dream was of his future encounter with Reyes. He remembered what Cole had said, that Reyes was an aggressive tyrant, and so he dreamed that he had a duel with Reyes. Reyes quickly drew his pistol and sent lead into Jack's body. Jack collapsed in severe pain and felt like he fell off the edge of a cliff. He just kept falling and falling, and the ground was nowhere in sight. When it finally came into view, Jack jerked awake.

Jack found himself surrounded by grand buildings and paved roads. He correctly assumed that he was in Mexico City. "Welcome to Mexico City, Señor Marston," a soldier said to Jack. Jack looked around, stunned and amazed at the sight of the grand capital of Mexico. The biggest city he had ever seen was Blackwater, and that was only a city of 1,500 people. Now, he was in the largest city in the country of Mexico, and he was very impressed with the way it looked. With how the capital appeared, Jack suddenly found it hard to believe how poor the rest of the country was.

A few minutes later, the wagon pulled into the presidential palace, a four-story building on top of a hill. At the front of the building, the second and third floors had large balconies, and just outside the building was an impressive garden, complete with several different kinds of flowers and other beautiful plants. Well maintained bushes surrounded the entire palace, which was light tan in color and made of hand-laid adobe bricks. A large Mexican flag flew high and proud on top of the palace and a smaller one hung above the front doors.

The wagon stopped at the north side of the palace and the soldiers helped Jack out of the wagon. "What do you think of the capital, Señor Marston?" one of them asked.

"It's beautiful," Jack said. "I can't believe it! I've only read about cities like this in books! This is amazing!"

"I'm glad you like it here," the soldier responded. The soldiers led Jack to the front entrance, two doors made of thick oak wood, and led him through the main foyer. The floor was made of marble, and directly above the center of the foyer was a giant chandelier. A large staircase led to the upstairs rooms and several hallways connected the main foyer with the rooms on the first floor. Jack was led up to the presidential room on the third floor. There, the soldiers sat Jack down in a chair and left him to wait for President Reyes.

Just a few minutes later, Abraham Reyes entered the room. Reyes had short and neat hair, a well-trimmed mustache, and an average build. Jack sat with his back to Reyes, so he was alerted to Reyes's presence when he said, "John Marston! I never thought I'd see you again, _mi amigo_. You must tell me..."

Reyes stopped talking when Jack turned around and showed Reyes his face. Reyes immediately turned aggressive. "Who are you, _gringo_? Where is John Marston? I want you out of my palace immediately!"

"Easy, friend," Jack said. "I'm John's son, Jack."

"Jack? Oh, Jack!" Reyes recalled John mention his son, but he had never mentioned his son's name. Regardless, Reyes added, "Your father always talked about you, Jack. The Marstons are always welcome here at my palace. You must tell me how your father is doing."

"I'll ask him as soon as I get to hell," Jack said. "My father was killed several years ago."

"_Que_? That cannot be! You must tell me everything." Reyes sat across from Jack, a look of concern on his face. Jack didn't know if it was a genuine look or if Reyes was faking it. He wasn't really in the mood for opening up about the assault on Beecher's Hope, and especially not to somebody like Reyes, but he didn't want to do anything to make him mad. He had stirred up enough trouble as it was, and he especially didn't want to anger the Mexican government. Jack sighed and nodded in agreement.

"After my father left Mexico, the men who wanted him to catch Javier Escuella and Bill Williamson told him that he had to find one more man, Dutch Van Der Linde. I always knew him as Uncle Dutch growin' up."

"Ah, yes, John did mention Dutch. He sounded like an interesting man, a revolutionary like me. So you grew up around this man?"

"Him and Javier and Bill. Anyway, my father spent about a week huntin' Dutch, finally comin' across him at a place called Cochinay. They exchange some words, and some gunfire..."

"John always did love those guns of his," Reyes interrupted, chuckling.

"Right," Jack said awkwardly. "So Dutch ended up dyin' and they let my father reunite with me and Ma. Things went alright for about a week. Pa taught me a few things about shootin' and huntin', and I can't say that I was the perfect child, but I was glad he was home."

"Can we just get to John's death?" Reyes asked impatiently.

"Fine. A man by the name of Edgar Ross sent a group of soldiers to the house about a week after Pa returned home. We fought them off as best as we could, but Pa send Ma and me off on horseback, and we heard a lot of shots and found him dead and the soldiers gone when we returned."

"_Dios mio_," Reyes said, genuinely sad. "John Marston is dead. I cannot believe it."

"Well believe it, Señor," Jack said.

"You call me President Reyes."

"Fine. Believe it, President Reyes." Jack put emphasis on the last two words.

"Good, good."

"So how did you come to power? Someone in Chuparosa was tellin' me that my father somehow helped you out there."

"Ah yes. John helped me kill _Coronel_ Allende, Captain De Santa, and Captain Espinoza. They were all very important people in the Mexican government. Allende was the man in charge of Nuevo Paraiso and De Santa and Espinoza were very important people in the Mexican army. When they were killed, I led a force of men to Mexico City and stormed the capital. President Sanchez never stood a chance. I allowed him to surrender and he's living in exile now."

"Someone told me you killed him when he was tryin' to surrender," Jack said.

"That is nothing but propaganda. I did allow him to surrender. I can be reasonable when I want to be." There was a pause for a few seconds. "Now I want to talk to you about why you're here. I was told you stole one of our money wagons. The government needs that money for her people. I want you to tell me where it is."

"Not gonna happen," Jack said.

"Perhaps you didn't understand." Reyes pulled his gun on Jack, and Jack instinctively drew on Reyes. "I will not kill you if you comply, Jack."

"I won't comply unless you kill me," Jack snapped. This frustrated Reyes and he glared angrily at Jack. After ten seconds, however, a smile crept to his face and he laughed. Jack gave him a confused look, not understanding why Reyes was laughing.

"Ah, Jack, you certainly are your father's son!" Reyes said, still laughing. "You're stubborn and aggressive and blunt. I like that about you." Reyes put away his gun and put his arm around Jack. "I understand that you need money, and I have a plan that will benefit us both. Work for me and I will give you anything you want."

"What do you mean, 'work for you'?" Jack asked.

Reyes began pacing back and forth. "There is a _rebelión_ against my government and my people. I have been fighting it for so long, and I have been fighting well. With somebody like you fighting for me, I will finally have the upper hand and I can win. With you, _México _will be moved into a new golden age and her people will be much better!"

"What makes you think I'd help you with this rebellion?" Jack asked.

"I helped your father. Now you help me. It is very simple."

"My father helped you plenty," Jack said. "I don't owe you nothin'."

"I know what you did at Rio Del Toro," Reyes said, his voice becoming more ominous. "The American government is looking for you. If you do not do as I say, I will make sure they find you and kill you. If you do as I say, I will protect you from them and I will give you anything you ask for. Do we have an understanding?"

"How the hell do you know about that?" Jack asked wildly.

"The American government asked to investigate the murder. I approved their request under the condition that they tell me what they find out. When you mentioned Edgar Ross and how he killed John, I guessed you were responsible. Now I ask again, do we have an understanding?"

Jack bit his lip and gazed bitterly at Reyes. As much as he hated to admit it, he was right. The American government was probably hard at work trying to find Jack, and even though Archer Fordham had told Jack that he would do what he could to stop them from finding him, there was only so much one man could do to protect him. Eventually, they would find him in Mexico and they would bring him back to the United States. He would be put on trial and probably hung for his crimes. Jack shuddered at the thought of being put to death by the same people who had killed his father.

At the same time, however, Jack knew that siding with Reyes was a bad idea. He remembered what Cole had told him about the rebellion, how Reyes was no good for Mexico and how the rebels were working to remove Reyes's tyrannical regime from power. His father had already helped this joker to power, and Jack certainly didn't want to make that same mistake. He wondered if it would be a good idea to side with the rebels, but finally conceded and decided to side with Reyes. He knew it was a bad choice, but he also didn't want to fall into the hands of the US government.

"Fine. What do you want me to do, President Reyes?"

"Ah, good choice, _amigo_. First, I want you to tell me where you hid my money wagon. And any pesos you have, give them to me. You are now my guest, and my guests are treated as kings. You will have anything you want."

Jack pulled out the remainder of the small sum he had taken from the wagon and slammed it down in front of Reyes. He then pulled out his father's map of Mexico and laid it on a table. Pointing, he said, "It's south of this bend in the road here, hidden in some bushes."

Reyes laughed. "That's not the hiding spot I would have chosen, but _gracias_, Señor Marston. I will have it brought back here. Next, I want you to spy on the rebels for me. I have been trying to get a spy into the rebel camp of Nosalida for many months. I have lost many great men. You are as a stranger to _México_; they will not know that you are with me. You will get me information about their plans against me, and if you are lucky they will let you meet their leader, José Valentia."

"What's in it for me?" Jack asked.

"Let us say 15,000 pesos for every visit that you make. Do we have a deal?"

Jack shook Reyes's hand. "Deal."

"Excellent!" Reyes said, genuinely excited. "Jack, we are going to make excellent partners! Now go and rest. You have much traveling to do tomorrow. _Buenas noches_."

Jack was led by a soldier to his room, which was large and had carpeted floors. Jack removed his hat and lay on his bed, pondering what his life would become like shortly. He didn't want to be involved in this rebellion, but at the same time he didn't want to be turned in to the law enforcement back in the States. While still borderline suicidal, Jack was completely opposed to a death at the hands of United States lawmen. He didn't want to go out as his father did; if anything, he wanted to go out in a more glorious way, a show of his skill and power.

_Maybe my death will come in this rebellion,_ Jack thought. _Maybe this is it for me. I can't go back to America and I can't stay out of this war, and both seem like a death sentence. Only I'd rather die at the hands of Mexican rebels than the government. I wonder if they're even looking for me? How long 'til they track me down to Mexico and send someone after me like they sent my Pa after Javier and Bill? Or will they even do that? _As Jack was pondering this, he fell asleep.


	8. Seeking And Remembering

**So sorry for the late update, things have been hectic lately. Here's the next chapter.**

* * *

The telegrapher in Blackwater sat at his desk, boredly tapping his feet and twiddling his thumbs. He was almost always bored at his job; he received plenty of messages, but most of them concerned the many businesses in town and were uninteresting to him. He sighed and slouched back in his chair, tired, and took a quick nap.

The sound of tapping woke him before he could fall deeply asleep, and he cussed as he began to write the message down on paper. As the message formed, however, he became more and more interested in it.

The message read:

"J-A-C-K M-A-R-S-T-O-N S-P-O-T-T-E-D I-N M-E-X-I-C-O. S-E-N-D M-A-R-S-H-A-L-S T-O M-E-X-I-C-O."

While the message was being tapped out, the telegrapher couldn't help but feel excited. He had given his telegrapher's assistance to the law before, but never to catch a criminal as notorious as Jack Marston. In fact, he had delivered messages about Jack's father, John, three years before when he was working on behalf of the Bureau. It was him who had wired to the marshal in Armadillo telling him that John was looking for Bill Williamson and to give him the assistance he needed. He never could have guessed that three years later, John's son would become an outlaw and he would have a big hand in bringing him to justice.

Once the message had finished being tapped out, the telegrapher took the piece of paper he had written on straight to the Blackwater police headquarters. He burst through the doors and quickly ran to the front desk, catching himself as he ran right into it. "I need to speak with Chief Fordham," he stammered out to the man at the desk. "It's urgent. Jack Marston has gone to Mexico."

The desk clerk quickly led the man upstairs to Fordham's office. There, the telegrapher quickly stammered out the message he had received regarding the whereabouts of Jack Marston. Once he had finished speaking, Fordham looked lost.

"You were speaking too quickly," he said. "Calm yourself and repeat to me what you just said."

The telegrapher took a deep breath. "I just received a telegraph that said Jack Marston has been spotted going to Mexico. I don't know how he got past border patrol, but I do know that it could mean trouble. We need to send some police there immediately."

"Border patrol should be able to take care of it," Fordham lied, following through with his promise to protect Jack.

"The telegraph sounded urgent. What if Jack killed the border agents?"

"Then we wouldn't have received a telegraph. Nobody would have been able to send one. They should be able to handle it on their own."

"But if they could handle it on their own, why did they send for help here?"

"I'll take a look at the situation, alright? Now go. I have much to do."

"But..."

"You also have a job to do, if I'm not mistaken, Mr. Telegrapher. Now get back to your post." The man begrudgingly complied, mumbling to himself as he walked out of Fordham's office. Rather than returning to his post, however, he talked to another police officer, Nathaniel Covington, who promised to talk to Fordham for the telegrapher. Once the telegrapher had left the building, Nathaniel entered Fordham's office.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he began, "but this matter is urgent. It's in regard to the whereabouts of Jack Marston. He was spotted in Mexico and the border patrol agents have sent us a telegraph requesting assistance."

"We have much to deal with here in Blackwater," Fordham said. "I'm sorry, but there's not much I can do right now."

"This is Jack Marston we're talking about," Nathaniel argued. "He killed Edgar Ross, one of Blackwater's finest men, a loving man who did nothing but help the people here. He also killed several men on our police force and seriously wounded Drew Blankenship. The doctors say he'll pull through, but he'll be crippled for the rest of his life. Jack Marston is a menace and needs to be brought to justice immediately."

"Jack Marston is not a threat to anyone in this country unless he is actually _in_ this country," Fordham rebutted. "As long as he's in Mexico, he's not our problem and, in fact, he is out of our jurisdiction. What would President Reyes do if we sent our men into his country? There's already a civil war on the horizon over there and I don't want to be responsible for involving the United States in that war."

"That's not what you said three years ago about Bill Williamson and Javier Escuella. Remember? Both you and Agent Ross were talking about how they needed to be brought in before they could do more harm. How is this situation with Jack Marston any different than that one?" Fordham had no counter argument, so Nathaniel continued. "Maybe Mexico is out of our jurisdiction, but that didn't stop the Bureau from sending John Marston, Jack's father, down there to serve justice on our behalf. Perhaps we could send somebody like that down there?"

"No. The Bureau made a mistake in sending John down to Mexico. If it weren't for the overthrowing of Sanchez's government several weeks later, he probably would have taken action against us. It could have turned into a much bigger ordeal than you realize."

"But if they hadn't sent him to Mexico, who knows what Bill would have done? He could have returned to the States, rebuilt his gang, and continued to terrorize the citizens of New Austin. It was a good thing that we sent John Marston to Mexico to kill Bill, and it would be good if we could send somebody to kill or capture Jack."

Fordham tried to think of what to say to that. He didn't want anybody to become suspicious of him, but at the same time he had promised to keep Jack safe. He wasn't sure what to do at this point. Nathaniel had some great points, and was completely correct in everything he said. Still, Mexico _was_ out of their jurisdiction and they had been lucky to not get in trouble when they sent John there.

Finally, Fordham spoke up. "Alright, I will take action. We will increase border security and if Jack tries to come back, we'll bring him in."

"That won't be enough. We need to go after him now."

"Give me some time to think on it and I will get back to you."

"No. We need to take action now. Jack can't be far from the border if he just crossed over; if we wait too long, we might not be able to find him. We need to send somebody down there immediately."

"Who do you suggest we send down there?"

"We need to send somebody that he won't see coming. How about you? You and Drew were the only ones that survived his attack on your group at his ranch, and of course Drew is in no condition to go anywhere."

Fordham smiled on the inside. This was the perfect opportunity to warn Jack that the law knew where he was and was looking for him. Fordham nodded and said, "Alright, let me make preparations and I will leave tomorrow. I'm leaving you in charge of the police department until I return."

"As you wish, Chief," Nathaniel said, nodding. "I can assure you that Blackwater will be in good hands while you're away."

* * *

A couple days later, Archer Fordham entered the small Mexican village of Chuparosa, on the lookout for Jack. Several citizens looked at him with curiosity; indeed, rather than his police uniform, Fordham had decided to wear his fancy-looking Bureau uniform, something he hadn't worn in years. He appeared very out of place in the poor Mexican village. He approached one of the citizens and smiled in greeting.

"_Hola_," Fordham said. "Have you seen a...uh...gringo with a feather in his hat?"

"_Que_?" the man asked, unable to understand Fordham. "_No comprende_. Q_ué le dijiste?_

"Uh...sorry, _no habla Español_. Do you speak English?"

"No, Señor. No speak _Inglès_."

"OK, thank you," Fordham said, walking away from the man. He tried to speak with many other town residents, but was met with similar confusing conversations half in English and half in Spanish. After almost an hour, he finally gave up and went into the little saloon in town. He sat down at one of the tables, took his hat off, and ran his hand through his hair, sighing in frustration.

From the bar, Cole spotted Fordham and approached him, sitting down at the same table as him.

"_Como estas?_" he asked.

"I must apologize; I don't speak Spanish," Fordham responded.

"Well then you've come to the wrong place, pal," Cole said. "Why you even here anyway?"

"I'm looking for someone."

"Who you lookin' for?"

"Jack Marston. Have you seen him anywhere?"

"Are you with the government back in the States?" Cole asked suspiciously. Fordham shushed him.

"Yes," he whispered, leaning closer to Cole, "but I'm not here to harm Jack. I just want to warn him to watch his back because we know he's in Mexico. Is he here in...uh...what's the name of this village?"

"Chuparosa," Cole said. "You got a lot of nerve comin' here, mister. If our president knew you were here, he probably wouldn't be particularly happy."

"I know, which is why I need to remain undercover. As I said, I don't want to hurt Jack. I just want to warn him. Is he here?"

"No, you just missed him. Some men took him away to Mexico City."

"What did they want with him there?"

"I don't know, but it sounded urgent. I think Reyes might have heard that John Marston's son was in Mexico and wanted to speak with him. Whatever it is, I hope Jack doesn't ally himself with Reyes. Of course, given his poor attitude and rebellious nature, I wouldn't be surprised if he did. That boy needs to learn how to handle himself responsibly."

"Do you think he'll return to Chuparosa?"

"Hard to say. I guess it all depends on what happens with him and Reyes."

"Do you think it would be worth my time to stay here and wait for him?"

"That would depend on how badly you want to speak to him. If he stays close to Reyes, it'll be very dangerous to track him down, so if there's any chance of you meeting up with Jack, your best bet is Chuparosa."

"Thank you for your help, Mr..."

"Cole. Cole Ricketts. Happy to help, sir. I take it you're with the Bureau?"

"No. This is just my old uniform. I'm the chief of Blackwater police."

"Oh right, you must be Kyle."

"No, Kyle retired a few months ago. I'm Archer Fordham, the new chief of police. I've been chief for a few months now."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fordham," Cole said, shaking Fordham's hand. "In case it ain't obvious, I'm the son of Landon Ricketts."

"I've heard of his name. He was in the Blackwater Massacre, wasn't he?"

"And so was I, sadly. My father raised me to be good with guns from a young age. The massacre was awful for everyone; only a few people made it out alive. You lose anyone in that?"

"My mother. That was what inspired me to become a law officer."

"That's a shame. I'm sorry." Changing the subject, Cole asked, "Just out of curiosity, why aren't you lookin' to bring Jack in?"

"I had a lot of respect for his father. I actually tried to convince Edgar Ross not to kill John."

"Oh did you? He obviously wasn't a good listener."

Fordham laughed. "No, no he wasn't. They ended up giving him a chest of medals. I think it was something like twenty or thirty medals total. They honored him for his service with the Bureau, and most of all they honored him for the extermination of Dutch van der Linde's gang, including John."

Cole shook his head. "That's just sickening. Why would anyone in their right mind give a man like that a medal like that?"

"I don't know, but whatever the reason, he's at least nobody's concern now. The only sympathy I feel is toward his family. They're devastated."

"And why wouldn't they be? They ain't as cold hearted as he was."

"No they're not. Anyway, I'm not lookin' to bring Jack in because I made a promise to him that I would keep him safe. I'm the one who told him to come to Mexico."

"So, you're just going to wait for him then?"

"I am," Fordham said. "I am. When did you meet Jack?"

"Just a couple days ago. We had ourselves a duel yesterday."

"A duel? You must have disarmed him."

"I like how you assume the Ricketts won," Cole said, amused. "You're right, of course, but I didn't hurt the kid. Just shot the barrel of his gun, that's all."

"When do you think he'll be back in Chuparosa?"

"I can't tell you when he'll be back, or if he'll even be back at all, but I guess we'll see. Wherever he is, I hope he's stayin' out of trouble. He probably isn't, but I do hope he's...not dead, I suppose. Yeah, I hope he ain't dead."


	9. Rebels With A Cause

"Señor Marston, wake up. Señor Marston, come on, wake up!" A Mexican servant poked Jack as he slowly woke from his slumber. Groaning, Jack pushed the man's arm out of the way and sat up, glaring angrily at the man for disturbing him. The servant stood back quietly and Jack slowly climbed out of bed. Already dressed, Jack simply grabbed his hat, hooked his gun belt around his waist, and slid his rifle into the sling.

"I'm ready to go," he said.

"Alright, señor. Come, you have a long way to travel, but first you must get something to eat." The man led Jack out of his room and into the dining room. Jack marveled at the room's grand appearance; over a dozen large tables with fancy chairs filled one part of the room, and another part was occupied by a stage where entertainment performances could be held. Jack sat at the table closest to the stage and idly put his feet on the table, relaxing.

"Uh, you should not do that," the servant said.

"I'll do as I please," Jack said defiantly. The servant sighed and walked to the kitchen, returning ten minutes later with Jack's food. On the plate were three large enchiladas and a side of well-cooked scrambled eggs. The servant also placed a glass of clear and clean water on the table. He pulled out a small handkerchief and tried to tuck it into the front of Jack's shirt. Jack stopped him by grabbing his arm and quickly snatched the handkerchief from his hand.

"I can do it myself," he said. "I ain't armless." The servant quickly left Jack alone, having finished his job and being somewhat annoyed with him. Jack smiled and rubbed his hands together, thankful for such a large meal. He wasn't used to dining accommodations like these, nor was he used to eating such substantially large meals, and to top it all off, the water was crystal clear! Starving, Jack quickly scarfed his entire meal down, leaving no time to savor the taste of the food. Just as he was finishing, a Mexican army man entered the dining room.

"_Hola_, Jack," he said, sitting across from Jack. "My name is Carlos Montiño. President Reyes has told me to take you to Nosalida and to explain what you will be doing there. We will ride on horseback to Nosalida as soon as we are done talking. I will take you to the edge of the camp, but I will not go in myself. It is too dangerous. Once you are in the camp, act friendly and tell them that you are interested in helping the rebel cause. You will be our...uh...fly on the wall, in a way. Once you learn enough, return to the _palacio_ and tell Reyes everything you have learned. Before we leave, do you have any questions?"

"No. Let's get going."

"_Excelente_! Come, I have prepared the horses." Carlos led Jack out of the grand palace to a large stable behind the palace. The stable sat on the north side of the backyard, which was several acres in size. Jack was amazed by the grandeur of the beautiful backyard; bushes and flowers lined the pathways, and a large fountain with a statue of Abraham Reyes sat in the center. The paths were of fine cobblestone, made up of smooth rocks taken from the San Luis River. A path led from the stable to the spot where Jack and Carlos were standing, and they followed this path and entered the stable.

Inside the stable were over a dozen of the finest horses in Mexico. Carlos led Jack to a deep brown (almost black) horse with a silvery mane and dazzling blue eyes and said, "This is your horse, señor. One of Reyes's finest horses for one of Reyes's finest friends." Jack grinned happily as he mounted his new steed, but wondered what had happened to his palomino. He figured it was probably still in Chuparosa, so he didn't worry. The horse nickered softly as a show of acceptance of Jack. Carlos hopped onto a light brown horse and slowly led Jack out of the stable.

Once they had left Mexico City, Carlos turned to Jack and said, "Nosalida is a day's ride from here, just on this road. We will camp once before we reach Nosalida, then you will ride into town in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Jack said. The two of them rode toward Nosalida, neither saying a word to the other. Jack didn't feel like talking; he just wanted to get this over with so that he could get back to doing what he had been doing before. He wasn't looking forward to the task ahead, and he didn't know exactly how everything would go down, but he hoped it would all turn out alright. Or, at the very least, he hoped that if his death came in this rebellion, it would be as quick and painless a death as possible. Jack wanted to die, but he didn't want to suffer.

Neither of them spoke until the sun was about to set. After almost a day's worth of riding, Carlos finally spoke up. "Señor Marston, have you ever raced horses before?"

"No, but I think I could hold my own in a race."

"Do you want to bet? The camp is already set up; there are several army men there already. You can't miss it. I say we race there and see who will win."

"If you really want to, I guess we could," Jack said. "But I ain't goin' easy on you, I can promise you that."

"I am much older than you and have been riding horses since before you were born. I think I can win in a race against you. Now let's race! _Rapido_!" Carlos and Jack spurred their horses hard, and within a few seconds their horses were running full steam ahead. Jack's horse was somewhat faster than Carlos's, but Carlos had much more experience in horse racing. Unknown to Jack, Carlos was a Mexican racing champion, and had only lost a handful of races. While Jack spurred his horse like crazy, Carlos spurred his strategically, being careful so as not to hurt his horse.

Despite Carlos's skills advantage, Jack's horse was much faster, and he quickly caught up to Carlos. Jack smiled and tipped his hat as he passed Carlos and dashed ahead. After forty seconds, Jack and Carlos saw some lights up ahead. "That's the camp!" Carlos yelled as he started to catch up to Jack. "_Seguir adelante_!" Jack and Carlos both reached the camp at about the same time, and they dismounted their horses, giddy and laughing about the race.

"I won!" Carlos exclaimed. "Your horse may have been faster, but I won."

"No, I won!" Jack said, chuckling. "I beat you fair and square!"

"Whatever you say, Señor Marston."

"So what kind of camp is this?" Jack asked curiously.

"This is our base camp. Here is where we keep an eye on the rebels without them attacking us. We have much ammunition here just in case they want to attack. We can fight them off well here. You will be here for a short time. When you finish your day's work in Nosalida, you will come back here and tell us if they have told you anything. _Comprende_?"

"Yeah, I _comprende_," Jack said.

"Great! Now go to sleep. You have much to do tomorrow."

The next day, Jack entered Nosalida alone, as the army men didn't want to risk going in themselves. Jack looked around as many of the rebels huddled near buildings in blankets. One man with bloodshot eyes approached Jack and begged him in Spanish to give him some food. Two young boys chased a small rodent around, and once they had caught it, they fought over who would get to eat it. Jack could see that this place was horribly stricken by poverty, and felt sorry for the poor little town.

One of the rebels approached Jack and asked, "_Qué estás haciendo aquí_?"

"Uh..._que_?" Jack asked. "I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish."

"I asked what you are doing here in Nosalida," the man said.

"I heard there was a group of rebels here. Where can I find them?"

"All over the place, señor. Sadly, we do not have much. We had much more once, but _Cochino_ Reyes has taken most of what we have. There are more rebels in Escalera, but they are in hiding. We do not know what we are going to do."

"Well is there any way I can help?" Jack asked.

"I don't think so," the man said. "Who are you?"

"I'm Jack Marston. Son of John Marston. Who are you?"

"My name is Hernando. You are the son of John Marston? That is a name I have not heard in years. Are you much like your father?"

"What do you mean?" Jack asked.

"Well if you are, then maybe there is something you can do for us. I will take you to our leader, José Valentìa. If there is something you can do, he will know." Hernando led Jack to the nicest-looking building in town, one that stood out in contrast to the more rotted buildings around it. This one was in good condition, made of adobe bricks with what appeared to be some kind of rebel symbol above the doorway. The floor was made of rotted wood, though, which creaked as Jack and Hernando walked on it.

Once the pair of men had reached Valentìa's room, Hernando quickly left. Valentìa stared Jack down with an intense gaze. He wore a fancy poncho, a typical Mexican sombrero, and dark work boots. His skin was a dark brown, somewhat darker than most other Mexicans. He had a mustache and very intense brown eyes which could pierce a man's very soul. His poncho was sleeveless, and Jack could see the raw power in the man's muscles. This man emanated power, and it was a mystery that such a man was in command of a relatively weak force of rebels.

"Who are you, _gringo_, and what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice echoing off the walls.

"I'm Jack Marston and I'm here to help you."

"Jack Marston? I have not heard of you, but I have heard of John Marston. Is he your _hermano_?"

"My what?"

"Your brother. Is John Marston your brother?"

"No, he's my...uh..._padre_."

"Ah, I see. So did he send you down here, or is he here also?"

"He's dead. I came alone."

"Oh. Well, Jack, if you are half as good as I hear your father was, you will be of much benefit to us." Valentìa stood up from his chair and paced around. "My forces have been exhausted over the last two years. Reyes has so much power that it is not easy to remove him from it. My sources tell me that the government is sending a money wagon to Chuparosa, where many government sympathizers are, and they will be taking the money back to Mexico City. I want you to steal it and bring it to me."

"What makes you think I'd steal for you?" Jack asked.

"You asked how you could help. The government will suffer without that money. I cannot say how much they are transporting, but as I understand it is a lot of money."

"You sure about that? I thought I saw a money wagon being escorted by soldiers a few days ago." Jack remembered stealing that wagon, and also remembered that Reyes had probably already taken it back by now.

"The government moves a lot of money and supplies. They are moving more money soon. You will be able to reach Chuparosa before they leave. I want you to take the wagon before they leave."

"But wouldn't that make the rebels look bad?" Jack asked.

"There is no way we could ever look worse than Abraham Reyes," Valentìa stated. Jack knew that was correct, but was still skeptical about the whole thing. Nevertheless, he agreed to it.

"Alright, I'll do it," Jack said.

"Excellent!" Valentìa said, excited. "The rebellion will live on thanks to you. Now go, the wagon should be there when the sun sets."

* * *

Back at the army camp, Jack told them about his first visit to Nosalida. After Jack explained everything to Carlos, he shook his head.

"That is not a government wagon," he said. "Valentìa is just using that as an excuse to get money for his _rebelión_."

"So what should I do?" Jack asked.

Carlos thought for a moment, then responded, "Do what he says, except make sure you only take a little bit. He will not be able to use that money for his _rebelión_ as long as it is a small amount of money."

"Makes sense to me," Jack said. "I should get going. He said the wagon will be there at sundown."

"Then go. And good luck." As Jack started off toward Chuparosa, he began to think back on how poverty-stricken Nosalida was, and how that little town was the epitome of Mexico's problem with poverty. And it wasn't just in Nosalida; Jack remembered that most of the buildings in Chuparosa were dilapidated and the people looked poor. He remembered how happy everyone had been when he bought them tequila shots; it was probably the first time most of them had had tequila in a long time.

Jack suddenly grew angry at Reyes for causing all of this poverty. He had promised to make things better for Mexico, but he had only made them much worse. Jack almost decided then to just side with the rebels and give them the money they needed, but he remembered that Reyes had blackmailed him and told him that he would turn him in to the law back in the States if he failed to comply. And as much as he hated siding with the tyrant, Jack also hated the idea of being tried and hung by a jury. Jack groaned in frustration and decided that it would be better to just leave it alone for now. Having made this decision, Jack rode onward to Chuparosa.


End file.
